


Apex Predators

by EmperorsVornskr



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Animal Death, Armitage Hux is Not Nice, Blood and Gore, Brendol Hux's A+ Parenting, Cannibalism, Child Abduction, Childhood Trauma, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Kidnapping, M/M, Medical Examination, Medical Jargon, Medical Procedures, Mentions of Past Sexual Coercion, Monster Armitage Hux, Mutilation, Near-Human Armitage Hux, Serious gore, Snoke Being a Dick, Trans Kylo Ren, Typical First Order Xenophobia, mentions of child abuse, people get eaten
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:35:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24452203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmperorsVornskr/pseuds/EmperorsVornskr
Summary: Arkanis is home to monsters, and one of them is Armitage Hux. Taken from his family at a young age by his cruel father, his true nature is suppressed, and he is forced to pretend he is something he's not. Until Snoke's apprentice joins the First Order, and is used to bring forth Armitage's untapped potential, resulting in a rivalry that is more than just vying for Snoke's favour, but understanding what truly makes a man a man... or a monster.This fic is gory. People get eaten. Head the tags.PangolinPirate was amazing and drew art for this fic! Please give it a look here! https://twitter.com/PangolinPirate/status/1306454583955292161
Relationships: Armitage Hux & Phasma & Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux & Rae Sloane, Armitage Hux & Ren (Star Wars: The Rise of Kylo Ren), Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 85
Kudos: 160





	1. Stolen Pup

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Hound of Arkanis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23435887) by [NebulousMistress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulousMistress/pseuds/NebulousMistress). 



> Short series inspired by nebulousmisstress's GLORIOUS work Let Slip the Hounds of the First Order. I've been wanting to toy with a non/near-human Hux for a while, and her work just inspired me to finally get on it! Go read her series, it's INCREDIBLE.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Arkanan pup is stolen from the warmth of his pack, and thrown into the cold world of the First Order.

Most children don’t remember being born- they’re not supposed to. The trauma of birth is hard enough on the parent bearing them into the world, but the trauma is enough that the newborn’s brain erases the memory to prevent long lasting effects on the developing psyche.

He doesn’t remember being born, but he remembers the moments after, and in the darkest times, he clings to those memories like a lifeline. 

He remembers the cold, then the warmth. He remembers the deep throaty rumble that soothes his entire body, quiets his cries. He remembers the warm body, the soft breast offered to his mouth, the rich nourishment of his mother as she fed him, the life-sustaining colostrum that filled his belly. He remembers her rough tongue grooming the birth fluids from his hair, her shaking fingers cradling his head tenderly, and her warm, rich voice crooning and purring as he nursed. Her body is safe, it’s home, her scent surrounds him, wraps around him, her heartbeat is strong and loud in his tiny ears, and he is loved, safe, loved, so loved. 

She croons and growls and purrs and rumbles, her words meaning nothing, but the throaty, guttural sounds mean everything. He hears his name over and over in the subharmonics of her throat and he nuzzles close, drinking in the warmth, her scent, the nourishment she gives freely from her breast. Her large clawed hands cradle him as she wraps them both in furs, and he can sense others pressing close, can smell their musk, hear their excited, happy sounds that say his name in a chorus of purrs. 

_My baby, my son, my pup, my love. Safe, loved, so loved, cherished little one. My precious Cuán._

He drowses off, belly full of warmth, heart full of love, skin thrumming with the softness of his mother’s touch, and he nuzzles against her breast, his world a small, narrow point of happiness as all around him, outside the den, voices lift in a chorus of warbling, howling song welcoming him into the world. 

He remembers this moment because it keeps him sane when his world is torn from him. 

He remembers waking to snarls, to yelling, howling, roaring that hurts his tiny ears, and he lets out a shrill howling wail of protest to add to the cacophony of chaos around him. His mother clutches him tight and burrows deeper into the throng of frenzied bodies. He can smell their anger, their fear. It burns his newborn nose and frightens him, and he wails against his mother’s breast, tiny fists clutching the fur that is spreading over her chest. 

He’s laid on the ground, and he protests loudly, the cold biting into his plump little joints as he hears cracking and growling over him. 

Sharp teeth slide around the scruff of his neck, and he’s lifted. Instantly, he goes quiet and limp, his mother’s hot breath wafting over him soothingly as he’s carried swiftly away, his mother moving fast, silent and urgent through the swamps. He keeps his body limp, but curls his limbs close to himself instinctively, knowing his mother won’t drop him. He’s safe in her jaws, and he isn’t scared- not anymore. 

Máthair will keep him safe from whatever drove them from the den. 

He remembers the next few months, clings to them, cherishes them.

He grows quickly, strong and healthy on his mother’s milk. Her glittering green eyes watch him with pride as he lifts his head and tracks her movements at only a few days. Her lips spread wide in a fanged smile as he rolls over onto his belly and lifts his head on his own, watching her make tea that makes her milk strong and rich. She beams with pride, tilting her beautiful head back to howl with delight when he crawls towards her, the hearth in the fire catching on the blood red waves of her glorious, beautiful mane that tumbles down her back and turns to a thick ridge of fur. 

He tries his best to howl back at her, making tiny mewls, and she purrs in delight, scooping him up and nuzzling into his throat, his belly, kissing him and cuddling him before allowing him to latch onto her breast. He’s only a few months old, but he’s strong, and he’s healthy, and his mother’s milk makes him healthier still.

Her love makes him strong. 

_My precious little Cuán_ , she purrs in his ear, brushing her nose over the top of his head, grooming his downy hair with her warm rough tongue, huffing tenderly as he nurses, and he does his best to purr back.

_Máthair. Máthair. Love Máthair._

His aunts and uncles love him, too. They all sleep together at night, bodies intertwined, cuddled close in various stages of transformation. Muzzles part in snores here, tails wag in a dream there, humanoid mouths gape open to drool and humanoid feet twitch while chasing prey in happy dreams. 

He sleeps curled against Máthair’s breast. She sleeps in the middle of the pack with the other two nursing parents- a mother of twenty, a father of thirty- their pups nestled close, the pack protecting their future. Outside the den, hidden in the thick undergrowth, eyes watch the territory, green irises glittering. The sentries won’t let the sanctity of their den be invaded again. 

Except, they aren’t given the choice in the end. They don’t even have the chance to defend their home. 

He’s nearly six months old now, and his life is perfect- all he knows is the love of his mother, his pack, the other pups who squeak and wrestle with him- even if they do have to be careful with him, he’s smaller, and he doesn’t have claws yet, or even his fangs, and he’s still nursing. He can walk, almost run, and he can’t keep up with the other two pups, but they still love their packmate, and they are always careful with him. 

He’s tumbling with his packmates, squealing and churring, delighting in the romping play as their parents watch adoringly. The sky is overcast, as it always is, but it isn’t raining this evening. It’s misty, and the light is slowly fading, the soft glow of the pack’s markings starting to light up as the darkness falls. 

His mother is glorious with her blood red hair and fur, her dark black and violet markings slashed over her skin beneath her clothing, and the soft violet glow of her bio-luminescent freckles shine like stars. Her eyes glitter and tapetum lucidum glow in the low light, a soft blue green. 

The swamp and surrounding forests thrum with life, with the sounds of the changing of the guard- the diurnal tucking into lairs, nests and dens as the nocturnal stretch their limbs and prepare for the hunt. All the while, the crepuscular pack cavorts in the twilight between day and night. They will doze when the temperature drops too low, then rise for the second half of their “day,” and go back to sleep when the temperature rises too high- all the while, the damp earth of their dens keeping them at optimal temperatures. 

They don’t get the chance to retire as a whole pack that night. 

The sentries wail, and are cut off with a strangled yelp on all sides of the perimeter. Bright lights shine over the pack, illuminating them all, eliciting hisses and howls, growls and roars of protest and fear. 

He runs to his mother, terrified. He’s seen strangers at the edge of the bright lights, and they smell strange, unfamiliar. They don’t smell of the earth, of the swamps and the forests, of rain and mist. They smell cold, alien and dangerous, their scent burning his nose. 

His uncle howls in fear and agony as one of the strangers holds up his cousin by the scruff of their neck with a strange torturous looking device- a pole with a loop at the end, and it is choking his cousin. 

“You know I’ve come for my son, Niamh,” boomed a voice, and he curls against his mother’s chest at the sound of the unfamiliar words, the speech without subharmonics that confuses him with their lack of intent or emotion. She clutches him tight, and he whines, her claws are digging into his shoulders, but he doesn’t move. He trusts her.

Máthair will keep him safe. 

“You can’t have him,” she challenges, and the growl in her throat under the strange words she speaks, tell her pup what he otherwise would not understand. She won’t give him to this stranger. He’s terrified. Why does this thing want him? 

“He’s my son, Niamh,” the stranger bellows. “I have orders from the Senate granting me custody.”

“Custody? Orders? He’s Arkanan, why would you want him, go through the trouble of off-worlder politics for an Arkanan pup?” she snarls, her fur bristling as the stranger approaches. 

He buries his face in her breast, terrified. The lights burn, they’re too hot, and the scent of anger and fear and alien smells hurt his nose. He wants to burrow into the den and hide, to curl up safe with his packmates and his mother, anything but this chaos of noise, sound and light. 

“Let me see him,” the stranger demands. “Or I hurt the cur in the noose.” 

His cousin lets out a yelp, and his uncle whines piteously. It hurts his heart, and he whines in return. 

Her hands shake as she pries him from her breast and turns him to face the stranger. The bright lights hurt his eyes and he hisses with a mouth full of tiny nubs of teeth just starting to grow in. His eyes glitter and glow before he wrenches them shut against the glaring lights. 

“How old?”

“He’s six months.” 

“He’s walking?”

“Almost running, but he will not thrive if you take him from me. He’s still nursing!” 

“He looks strong enough. Hand him over, Niamh.”

She clutches him tighter, pulling him back against her chest, and her whole body shakes. He whines, whimpers and cries, scrabbling at her with his tiny fingers, clutching and holding, he won’t go, he needs her! She loves him, she’s his Máthair, he can’t go!

“He’s mine,” she snarls. “You didn’t even notice when I left to have him. Why do you care? He won’t be a normal boy, he’s Arkanan, he’s mine, he belongs with the pack, he belongs to Arkanis!”

“I _**am**_ Arkanis!” The man roars. “I am part of something you filthy swamp dwelling sub-human filth will never understand, and I am entitled to my heir!”

“He’s not human,” she insists, and she’s crying, and it hurts him, Máthair has never cried before, it isn’t right. “He’s not human and you will never love him, he’ll never be accepted by the Empire, you’re just going to kill him slowly, you’re just doing this to kill _me_ slowly!”

“He’s. My. Son. As such, he’s entitled to a civilised life, with proper medical care, proper education, and your little tribe of primitives can’t give that to him. Hand him over.”

“He’s my son, too, and we don’t fly in space, but we actually love each other!” she hisses. “You’ll never love him, and it will kill him! What about his diet? What about when he becomes an adult? Are you ready for what that entails?”

“Give me. My son,” the man says coldly. “Do it, or I have my snipers kill the other pups and maim your pack.” 

The pack cries out, and he wets himself in fear as he smells the resignation on his mother. 

“He’s not weaned…” she says weakly. “He’ll get weak, he needs me.” 

He howls and bites at the meaty hand that grabs him by his soft little waist and pulls him bodily from his mother’s arms. His teeth aren’t sharp enough to do any damage, and he flails, bites, howls and cries. He’s gripped by the scruff of his neck, and he goes silent and limp, but the tears continue to fall. 

The scent of pain and sadness on Máthair hurt him in a way he’s never known. 

“Please… please, give me more time! Let me say goodbye!” she wails as he walks away. 

“You certainly had enough time when hiding him from me,” the man growls. “You knew I’d come for him. Shouldn’t have wasted your time pretending you could keep him- should have said your goodbyes then.”

“Please! Please be good to Cuán! Be good to my son! If you have to take him, please, please love him, please take care of him!”

Hearing his name, he cries and squirms, despite the instinct to be still while his scruff is held. Her cries, the subharmonics of her pain, her pleading, scare him more than anything else he’s ever known. 

“Cuán? What is that, a name for a pet?” the horrible man snorts. He hauls Cuán up and looks him in the eyes. Cuán snarls at him. 

He’s only known love and safety in his six months of life, but at this moment, he only knows fear and for the first time, pure, unadulterated hatred for the creature holding him, the thing stealing him from his mother. 

“Cuán. What a primitive sounding name. Like what you’d give a spoiled Kath hound.”

He walks away, signalling with his free hand. His scared cousin is released, the pup fleeing to his father’s arms. The pack circles close around Niamh, but doesn’t go after the man taking their most vulnerable away into the blinding light of the city, towards the Academy and the capital. 

The howls rise moments later, and Cuán howls back, sobbing and crying as his name rises on the chorus over and over again. 

_Cuán. Cuán. Cuán. Cuán._

He’s thrust roughly at a woman sitting on a strange metal contraption. She doesn’t look pleased as the squalling, muddy, half naked child is pushed into her arms, dirtying her pristine dress. She smells of sharp, acrid flowers and powdered minerals that make him sneeze, and she smells of something empty, cold and barren. She doesn’t smell of warmth and milk, of love and safety. 

“So … this is the bastard you produced with the wild-woman?” she asks disdainfully, holding Cuán at arm’s length. She’s noticed he reeks of urine, and he’s wailing inconsolably. 

“He looks mostly human. Will need to shave that ghastly fur off his back,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Otherwise… he could pass as human. He’ll do, I suppose.” 

“We wouldn’t need to make do, wouldn’t have had to go into the swamps to get this whelp if you’d been able to do your wifely duty and have a viable child,” the man snaps, hauling his bulk into the vehicle beside her. 

Cuán continues to cry, his throat hurting as he tries to be heard by the pack, but all he can hear is them crying his name, his mother’s voice the loudest of them all over the heart-broken din. 

_Cuán. Cuán. Cuán. Cuán._

“What is that word they’re saying?” the cold woman asks. “Is that his name?”

The man scowls as the vehicle lurches and heads to the city. 

“That’s the name of a wild cur. No Hux will bear such a name.”

He doesn’t understand. Cuán is his name, it has been since he was pushed from his mother’s womb and first heard her purr as she nuzzled and fed him. It was the very first word he ever heard. The man glances at him with cold grey eyes, and he shrinks inside his own skin. 

Behind them, the pack continues to scream and cry their loss.

_Cuán. Cuán. Cuán. Cuán. **Cuán**._

“His name is Armitage.” 

——

Armitage scowls at himself in the mirror, fussing with the collar of his tunic. He’s shaved, but the collar still itches almost painfully over the stubble. He’s tried waxing- the chemicals only tear off his skin. He’s tried laser hair removal- it made the growth worse, unbelievably enough. He’s resigned himself to shaving the back of his neck to emulate a normal hairline every morning, and using cream to soothe the itch and prevent ingrown fur. 

The Captain’s stripes on his sleeve are still new, crisp, and he still can’t really believe he’s made Captain, and he’s only twenty-six. If he keeps this up, he’ll be General before forty. 

Wouldn’t that just roast the old bastard’s fat? Armitage thought with a cruel grin, his teeth glittering in the light of the fresher. 

He scrubs at his teeth with the specialised brush- it took almost a month before the DD droid learned that normal toothbrushes would only shred on the sharp carnassial molars of their charge. 

He takes special pains to get between the deep creases of his carnassial molars, while avoiding nicking his fingers on their sharp points. He’s bitten off slices of his own fingers before and that was with taking the utmost care. 

There was a reason there was only one dentist willing to deal with him- and she wasn’t even really a dentist, but a xenobiologist who was his general doctor, and “handler.” 

At least she was nice, even if she did have the habit of treating him like a science experiment. 

Armitage scrutinises himself in the mirror once he’s spat the foam out of his mouth and rinsed his mouth. His teeth gleam and glitter, his green eyes sparkle with a feral intensity that he’s rather proud of, and his hair is actually behaving with the new pomade that Doctor Weyland formulated for his unruly mane. He looks presentable, and he’s pleased with himself.

“Captain Armitage Cuán Hux, you actually look decent today,” he tells himself. 

His father would be furious if he knew Armitage still used that name as his middle name. According to records, he was simply AX-3942, Armitage Hux, no middle name. Armitage still remembers the howling when he was taken away, remembers the name they called over and over as he was taken from the only loving home he’d ever known. 

_Cuán. Cuán. Cuán. Cuán._

Research told him later, when he was old enough to look it up discretely, that it was native Arkanan for “Little Hound,” or “Little Pup.” He learned it was usually a temporary name given to Arkanan children until their real name was decided on, but it was the name his mother called him, his pack had called him, so lovingly. He refused to let it go. 

He’d escaped so many nights as a child, tearing through the swamps on ungainly legs, alternating between toddling on two legs, then trying to run on hands and feet, mud and water splashing over him as he followed the scent of home back to the den. 

She was always waiting for him. 

He’d crash into her arms with whines and sobs, licking her jaw, nuzzling her neck, scrabbling at her as if trying to crawl inside her rib cage so that he’d never be parted from her again. She’d purr and purr and hold him close as she took him back into the den, and the whole pack would surround him with their scent, their warmth, their love. 

Her milk had dried up, and she wept at the misfortune, that she could not feed him properly, that he hadn’t been given the proper nutrition during his early formative years. He didn’t understand- and didn’t care. He had her close, he was in her arms, with the pack, and that was all that mattered. 

He was beaten badly the first time Brendol had to hunt him down and drag him home. The wounds healed quickly- he’d inherited his mother’s blood, her robust body- but the punishment didn’t take. He’d run again. And again. 

He got wise after a time, and he and his mother, the pack, would run, hunt, sing together during the night, doze together, and sneak their wayward pup home before he was found out again. The next night, he’d slip free again and run home. 

He never grew properly. Brendol lamented on his thin stature, his willowy frame, and made a point of trying to feed him, to bulk him up. The diet made him sick. He needed meat, but was given starches, vegetables, supplements made for humans, and he had an Arkanan digestive tract. 

“I warned you he was too young to take away,” his mother challenged during a rare sanctioned, supervised visit. “He wasn’t weaned. He was still nursing.”

Brendol had nothing to say to that, and cut their visit short- resulting in Armitage howling and screaming as his mother was pushed out of the estate, the three year old biting into Brendol’s hand with his newly erupted fangs. 

That had gotten his fangs removed. Not that it mattered- his adolescent fangs would grow in even sharper when he turned twelve. 

Then the siege happened, and he was taken into space, away from Arkanis, and he screamed, cried, howled, fought against the bounty hunter’s grasp, trying to bite at the armoured arms that gripped him. 

“This a kid or a tooka?” Swift had joked, and Brendol’s glare had Armitage silencing in an instant, to avoid the severe beating that surely would have followed. He’d curled up in a seat and silently sobbed himself to sleep. 

He never saw his mother again. 

“ARMITAGE!” roars a voice outside his room, and he jerks, brought back to the present. He smooths his tunic and opens the door. Standing outside is his father, glowering. 

“Been knocking for a full minute, what the void are you doing in there?” he scowled. 

“Ensuring my hairline is within regulations, General,” he replies monotone, dutiful and disinterested, but the tiny, almost imperceptible growl at the base of his throat gives away his irritation- Brendol doesn’t notice. He never does, as he never bothered learning the subtleties of Arkanan communication. 

“Good. You need to be presentable. The Supreme Leader is finally assigning his apprentice to the ship, and you need to make a good impression.”

“Apprentice, General?” Armitage echoes. “I wasn’t aware he had one.” 

“He does, and you’re going to be meeting him. Now get to the hangar bay, we’re headed to the Finalizer.” 

Armitage blinks, but doesn’t miss a step.

“The Finalizer, sir? She’s not ready yet- she doesn’t have a crew yet.”

“I don’t question the Supreme Leader, and neither should you, boy,” Brendol snaps. “You’ll do as you’re told.” 

Boy. He’s twenty-six years old and he’s still called ‘boy.’ He should be grateful he isn’t called ‘dog,’ but the troopers do enough of that that Brendol doesn’t need to. 

A lambda is waiting for them in the hangar bay, and the two Hux men board. Armitage doesn’t fail to notice how the troopers imperceptibly flinch back from him, but he doesn’t dignify their reactions with a response. He’s used to it by now. 

He just wishes he could give them something to be afraid of.

The trip is quiet and uneventful, and the disembarking is quiet, eerie, as the hangar bay of the newly manufactured destroyer is empty. 

The Finalizer is brand new, just birthed from the womb of the Supremacy, smelling of bright chemicals, polished floors, shiny new hydraulics and engine parts, of ozone, metal and transparisteel. She’s a pup, ready to start her career in the First Order’s Navy, to cut her teeth on her enemies, and Armitage feels something stir inside him as he steps onto the tarmac. 

Something inside curls, stirs and whispers “Den. Home.”

His instinct is claiming this new ship as his own. He doesn’t know how, not yet, but this ship, this lovely newborn warship, is his. Not officially, not yet, but his gut tells him she belongs to him. 

This feeling has his hackles rising under his tunic as he watches Brendol set foot on the tarmac behind him, and the urge to swipe at the insolence of trespassing is strong- almost too strong to ignore, and he curls his lip. He stops himself before Brendol’s eyes can adjust to the dim light of the hangar bay and notice his son’s contempt. 

Most of the lights were off, casting the hangar bay in darkness, and though the troopers were nervous, their HUD’s helping them, Armitage had no qualms in the dark. He saw better than any of them- so he is the first one to see the holo flicker into life. 

He goes to a knee as the figure of the Supreme Leader manifests in blue, Brendol and the troopers following suit. 

“General… Captain,” Snoke says in approval. “What do you think of the Finalizer?”

“A well built ship,” Brendol says noncommittally. 

“She’s beautiful,” Armitage says softly, a low purr in his voice. He means it. He doesn’t know why, but he loves this ship, and wants her to be his home. 

Snoke looks pleased. 

“I want you to get acquainted with her, Captain Armitage,” he says silkily. “Get to know her before she houses her future cadre of First Order personnel. Explore the insides from top to bottom.”

His asymmetrical eyes bore into Armitage. 

“Scout out your territory.” 

Armitage meets Snoke’s gaze, but his confusion was clear. His territory?

“You have not been fed well, Captain,” Snoke commented, and the troopers behind him shifted nervously, the stench of fear wafting between the joints of their armour, sharp and acrid like battery acid. 

“He is fed like any other trooper, Supreme Leader,” Brendol says dutifully. Snoke sneers.

“He is not like any other trooper, General, and you know this.”

Snoke turns his awful gaze back to Armitage. 

“I want to see how you and my apprentice fare against one another, Captain. You both have great potential, and have yet to prove the full scope of your formidable potential and skill.”

Armitage blinks, confused- and curious, wondering what all of this had to do with anything- his potential, the apprentice, his diet, the empty ship….

“Go scout the Finalizer. Get to know her. In ten hour’s time, I will be sending my apprentice with a civilian pilot here, and he will be given two hours to hide. You will hunt him down, and challenge him.”

Armitage feels his mouth gape just a little, and he shuts it again with a click of carnassial teeth. 

“If you hold your own against him…. You will be permitted to hunt down the pilot.”

Armitage feels his mouth water, despite himself, and his stomach tightens, his tongue flicking over teeth that suddenly itch in his mouth. 

“And you may feed as you wish.” 

Snoke grins, a lopsided, horrific expression, and he motions to Brendol and the trooper escort. 

“Leave him. He will report when his trial is done,” he says coldly. 

Brendol and the troopers did not need to be told twice, and in mere moments, the shuttle is gone, leaving Armitage standing before Snoke’s hologram. 

“You have been starved long enough, young Arkanan,” Snoke says softly. “Hold your own, and you will be rewarded. It’s time you put your gifts to good use.”

He becomes deadly serious. 

“The sooner you become intimate with this ship, the better odds you have. Now go.” 

Hux bows, and with only a moment of hesitation- which is a moment of coiling muscles and preparing his center of gravity- he leaps into a run, disappearing into the bowels of the Finalizer, into the dark, and into the unknown. 

He is excited to hunt, to run, to fight, and adrenaline courses through him, even though he knows he has a while yet before his unknown adversary will be within reach. He paces himself- he can’t get winded. He wants this, wants to fight, wants to prove himself.

He is also so very, very hungry. 


	2. Rite of Feasting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux earns his right to feed by challenging the Supreme Leader's apprentice. Kylo has no idea what he's up against, and leaves the encounter shaken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serious gore and semi-cannibalism in this chapter, you are WARNED. This fic is focused on Hux being a man-eater. It will not get better/lighter.

The Finalizer is beautiful, and Hux loves her. 

She’s gleaming, smelling of bright metal and brand new components, with very little traces of human life over her newborn bulkheads and floors. There’s no sound save for the soothing, gentle thrum of her engines as she idles in space, waiting expectantly. 

Normally, she’d be docked with the Supremacy, waiting for her crew, being stocked, fuelled, lovingly inspected and made into a home for a new cadre of personnel. She’d be filled with the scent and sound of staff making their rounds and carrying out their tasks, with the sounds of TIEs coming in and out of the hangar and the soothing rumble of her hyperdrives as she jumped from one destination to the next. 

For now, she’s quiet, lurking in the dark of isolated space, no immediate planets or stations nearby. No TIEs, shuttles or other craft were nestled in her belly- she has nothing but her own guts stowed inside. She was pulled from the shipyards fully crafted, but unprepared for life as a warship. 

For now, she’s a floating death trap from which there’s no escape. She’s a contained hunting ground for an apex predator who is intent on claiming her as his own territory. 

Hux has ten hours to familiarise himself with the Finalizer, but he doesn’t need all of them. He was instrumental in the original design of the Resurgent class battlecruisers, and is intimate with their general layout. He’s spent so much time on the Feralis, prowling her guts at night, that he could navigate any Resurgent class destroyer blindfolded. 

He doesn’t need to scope out vantage points. What he needs to do is to claim his territory. 

He heads straight for the bridge, stopping at various points to lean against the bulkhead, pressing his face, rubbing his jaw against the cool metal. Once he reaches the bridge, he stalks its shining, pristine floors. He removes his gloves and exposes his hands to the cold air of the bridge. 

The gloves are standard black leather, but the fingertips are reinforced with a weave of metal that protect the fabric- and other people- from the claws that tip each slender finger. Hux flexes his fingers in the cold air, his knuckles cracking deliciously. His claws glitter in the glow from the standby lights of the consoles as he runs his hands over the railing, the consoles, the edges of the viewport. 

He reaches the command deck in the center of the bridge. On old Imperial Class Star Destroyers, there would be a command chair, but the First Order doesn’t recognise such symbolism. The indolence of the Old Empire is not standard in the First Order. Had there been one, Hux would have sprawled in, would have rubbed his jaw over the armrests, against the high back, claimed it as his. 

Instead, he sprawls on the floor where a commanding officer would stand, by the railing that overlooks the engineering and navigation pits, the heart of the command deck, the position of power, and rolls on the deck, churring low in his throat as his hands, his face, his jaw, rub against the cold polished floor. 

Afterward, he makes his way to the officer’s barracks, heads to the quarters that will house the commanding officer. The door isn’t locked- no one is assigned to any quarters- and Hux slides right in. 

The quarters are four times the size of his own back on the Feralis. There’s a receiving room, a kitchenette, a study, a private closed off bedroom, and a refresher. Not just any refresher, but one with a shower that has actual running water. 

He doesn’t know where to start first. 

He prowls the quarters, running his bare hands over everything: the couch, the tables, the desk, the cabinets. He lies on the couch and rubs his face over it- the arms, the back, the cushions, purring deep in his throat. Then he slumps to the floor and rolls on the rug, still rumbling deviously. 

He keeps eyeing the refresher. The temptation of water, actual water on his skin is a siren call, and he can’t resist it any longer. It’s been years- almost a decade- since he’s felt water on his skin, and he needs it. 

He strips, carefully hanging up his uniform in the empty wardrobe, then steps into the shower and turns on the water. 

A low rumble escapes his throat as the hot water crashes over him with glorious heat and pressure. He sticks his face in it, purring, rumbling, growling in delight as he practically writhes in bliss under the stream. He doesn’t need to bathe, he took a sonic shower before meeting with Snoke, but he rarely gets the chance to submerse himself in water, save for the times he is desperate enough to brave the pool. He hates the pool- the chlorine burns his eyes, his nose and sinuses, almost burns his skin- and he only swims in it when he’s desperate for submersion. 

Showers with water are reserved for higher ranked officers- as a Captain, he’s still fairly low ranked, even if he’s one of the youngest captains- and Hux hasn’t had the privilege of one since he was on the same ship as Sloane, who never denies him anything that pertains to his unique biology. 

He spends nearly three hours in the shower. He has an entire ship’s worth of hot water all to himself, and the odds of him getting this chance again are slim to none. He takes his time, enjoys himself, almost contemplates taking a nap under the spray. 

He’s not full blooded Arkanan, however, and eventually his fingers and toes become so wrinkled they start to itch. He sighs and steps out of the shower, feeling invigorated, renewed, and he gives himself a good, full body shake, sending water flying everywhere, all over the refresher. Just another efficient way of spreading his scent. 

He checks the chrono he left by the wardrobe. Six and a half hours before the apprentice is dropped off- but Hux suspects the apprentice will be dropped off sooner than that, a test of how complacent he might become, alone on a warship, or how acute his senses are at a challenger arriving in his territory. 

The Finalizer _is_ his territory. It just isn’t official yet. 

He pads over to the bed and rolls onto it, purring softly as he wiggles and rolls, shifts and turns over the comforter, pressing and rubbing his face against the pillows. He slides under the blankets, between the sheets, his damp, naked body squirming happily against the high-thread count fabric of the enormous king-sized bed. He sprawls on his stomach and closes his eyes, churring happily at the comfort of the mattress- which is so much nicer than the tiny twin in his quarters. 

He knows Brendol will try to lay claim these quarters, and Hux refuses to “inherit” them from the old bastard. He’s claimed them already. Marked them. He’s only letting Brendol borrow them until his usefulness is outlived, and his unwanted son rises to take his rightful place. 

He naps, and dreams of hunts, of conquest thick with warm meat and salt-sweet blood, of cracking bones and rich marrow, of tender organs sliding down his throat and filling his ravenous, empty belly.

He wakes an hour later when he feels an almost imperceptible shift in his environment. 

He dresses, but this time, he leaves off the gloves, the boots. He moves silently, more quickly in his socks. His claws extend in anticipation, his teeth itch in his mouth, and he leaves his quarters and slips towards the lift. He’s taking his time- he doesn’t want to catch his quarry too quickly, there’s no fun in that. 

He takes the lift only so far, electing to open it a few levels below the cargo bay, where he has sensed vibrations of movement. His prey has arrived, and they arrived in the cargo receiving bay, not the hangar bay. 

He opens the maintenance hatch on the top of the lift car, and climbs out, and up the lift shaft. His claws hook into the railing tracks for the lift, the claws on his feet extending through the reinforced holes designed to withstand the sharpened bone and keratin. Using his claws, he scales the shaft almost silently, and pries open the doors just enough to listen, to smell. 

The shuttle sitting in the cargo bay is of an unusual make- it’s large, with upright wings, made of black metal and looks like an oversized bird of prey. It’s absolutely ridiculous, and no less ostentatious than Hux expected of a Force user. 

The pilot is still inside. Hux can smell them- he can smell their confusion, their nervousness at sitting in a shuttle in a pitch black cargo hold. It’s borderline fear, and Hux can’t decide if he likes the smell or not. What he does like, however, is the scent of decently toned muscle, of a good level of quality fat, of a healthy liver, a lean heart, and a slightly raised level of salt in the blood. The pilot, his promised meal, should he succeed, smells delicious, and saliva dribbles from his mouth onto the floor. His stomach churns and his teeth itch. He is so very, very hungry.

_Concentrate. You can’t eat them if you don’t succeed._

He turns his attention to the other scent- the one that’s fading into the darkness. 

This one is interesting. There’s the heat of anger, frustration. The coursing, pounding aggression of testosterone, but something else that curls in his nose deliciously, and he can’t quite pinpoint what it is. He also smells metal, leather, and ozone. He can tell his quarry is in his twenties, is in peak health, and is strong. This is good. This means it will be fun. 

A shudder runs through him, and he leaps lightly onto the floor where the trail of his prey begins. He lowers his nose to the floor and inhales deeply, memorising the scent, pulling it deep into his sinuses. His pupils dilate large, wide in the near pitch dark, and a grin spreads over his mouth, his fangs glittering. 

He smells confusion, bewilderment on his prey, and this excites him as he silently stalks down the corridor after the trail. 

Hopefully he’ll make his prey _afraid_ before he corners it. 

* * *

Kylo Ren likes the Finalizer the moment he sees her. She’s so new, unlike the ships he’d grown up with in the Republic- all the old, refurbished ships, the ratty old freighters repurposed to be warships, the Y-wings that refused to die. The Finalizer, she’s gleaming and practically untouched, and Ren’s enamoured with her. 

He doesn’t know what the Supreme Leader wants from this exercise. He isn’t even sure what the exercise is. 

He was told to leave his lightsaber on the Supremacy, and was put on the Upsilion with a civilian pilot- which rankled him, as he knew how to fly the shuttle far better than any civilian, but he never questions his Master. 

What he doesn’t understand is the premise. 

He was told to go deep into the Finalizer, into the barely lit bowels of the newborn ship, and do his best to avoid being intercepted and assaulted by one of the Order’s most talented officers. 

“This one is different,” Snoke had said. “He is special, unique, and his potential is untapped. I would see how you, my apprentice, will fare against him… and how he will fare against you. I will give him permission… to hunt you down. He is not allowed to kill you, but he may come close. You, likewise may not kill him- but do what you must to incapacitate him and prove your dominance.” 

So now, Kylo’s in the corridors, heading for center of the ship, shrouded in the dark, unsure what the hell this is all about, or why this particular officer is special. He is perturbed, however, that Snoke had said “hunt you down,” and “prove your dominance.”

As if Snoke has unleased a predator, or a wild animal to stalk him like prey. 

His senses are stretched out to the Force, though he isn’t relying on his eyes. He’s depending on his ears, his nose, his sense of the Force and how it interacts with other living beings. He registers the soft flare of the pilot, and pushes it aside- the pilot is inconsequential. He can sense that someone had been down this corridor three to four hours ago, and he’s focusing on that now. 

He can smell shoe polish, pomade- definitely well groomed, from what he can smell- and something that he can only describe as musky fur. So perhaps an officer with a hound companion? A beastmaster? Perhaps… but scent has never been his strong suit, especially with the mask. He depends on the Force, and his ears. 

What bothers him is that he can’t sense the officer.

He can sense something that feels off to his mind, but he doesn’t sense the officer. He just senses curiosity, intelligence, and most of all, he senses hunger. This must be the beast the officer is working with. 

He pauses, waiting. That feral presence is getting closer, moving with purpose, and its focus is directed on him. The Force nudges him, pushing him towards this presence as the immediate threat, but Kylo is still stretching out, combing for the hand that holds the leash of the feral spark. He should sense the human controlling the beast, but he can’t, and that has something bitter and acidic curling in his mouth. 

_Where is the officer?_

He doesn’t have any time to consider it further, as a shadow rushes at him from the dark with a furious snarl. 

* * *

Hux is almost _disappointed_ at how easy it is to sneak up on the man. 

He watched him as he slid from alcove to alcove, from room to room, keeping pace with the tall man as he did his best to move down the corridor silently. He might as well have been stomping, for all the good his attempts at stealth were. 

He’s tall, almost ungainly- he’s mostly legs and arms, well toned, lean, and a great deal of muscle on his torso, but Hux doesn’t think he’d be that tasty. His legs are long, tough, probably gamey, more than he likes. His shoulders are well built, and his torso has a lovely ratio of width compared to his waist- his ribs would be delectable, but his abdominals would make it harder to get to his innards. 

He has a gorgeous rump, but Hux isn’t sure if it’d be worth trying to sink his teeth into- not for food, anyway. 

He sniffs the air, reading more about this man. He can smell the robust health of his body- a good liver, strong heart, lungs with incredible capacity. His blood smells clean, level- salt and sugar aren’t too high or low- the sign of a good spleen, rich marrow and a healthy pancreas. 

Overall, Hux decides that were he allowed to kill and eat this man, he wouldn’t be worth it. Too much effort to get through the tougher muscle in order to reach the delectable organs. Worth it if he wasn’t a Force user- which makes him considerably more difficult to kill- and if Hux were starving. 

He is close to starving, and he has the potential for a civilian if he dominates this one, and the hunger, the promise of a delectable morsel drives him to win this battle. It’s almost too easy. He’s practically on top of this man, and he can tell that he’s been sensed, but the tall black-clad figure is still tense, alert, and clearly looking for another threat.

His hunger is what drives him not to care that it’s too easy. He’s been living on ration bars and protein paste that are full of starches and grains that cause him stomach pain, and he will not lose the opportunity to have meat. 

The last time he fed properly was on someone who was given to him as punishment- to fight the General’s monstrous son, and would be allowed to be reconditioned if he lived. They had failed, and thus were seen as nothing more than fodder for the local beast. He’d fought against his nature then- he knew his body needed flesh, blood, but the rare treat of nerf, of other livestock had been more than enough to make him content. He’d never, not once, considered human flesh. He was half human himself- the thought was abhorrent. 

Until he’d broken skin with his claws in self defence, and that first splash of warm, salty blood had gotten on his lips, into his mouth as his tongue licked it away, and his mind had gone blissfully blank. Nothing could compare to the ambrosia of that first taste of spilled blood. 

He didn’t even remember the fight after that, only that when the doors on the interrogation room had finally opened, he came to, rumbling and churring, his belly distended as he licked blood from his fingers, sitting in the ruined remains of an open ribcage and discarded bloody uniform pieces, he knew what being truly satiated felt like, and he knew he’d never know peace without it. 

He also knew the incredible rush that resulted from seeing the mixed look of terror and revulsion on Brendol’s face when he saw what his son was capable of was something that made him realise how dangerous he truly was. 

That meal, that feeling, and the promise of both, is what drives him now as he coils his muscles and launches himself at his quarry. 

He’s fast, and he’s silent, and he hits the man with all the force his muscles can muster. He’s not a large man- tall, but not heavy- but when moving at full force, he usually can knock over a heavily built trooper in full armour with ease. So he is very surprised when this man staggers, but doesn’t fall. 

The man does jerk, leans forward with the impact, but doesn’t fall. He instantly grabs at Hux, who clings like a burr, sinking claws into the odd black robes he wears. It’s hard to sink his claws into the shoulders- he’s wearing armour, robes and a ratty shawl- so Hux seizes the shawl with his teeth and yanks. The sound of cloth ripping is loud in the quiet of the corridor that is only broken with the sounds of their struggle. 

Hux snarls as he pulls and yanks the shawl away, only to find the man’s throat is covered with the high neck of his armour. No matter, he can’t kill the man, anyway. In any case, he’s actually having to cling to this tall, well built man with all his strength, as his flailing, the grabbing of his large hands on his arms is taking every ounce of his concentration. 

* * *

Kylo has no idea what to make of the shape that’s leapt on his back until he feels the hands on his chest. Hands- with claws. There’s pale, long fingers digging into his armour, claws ripping apart the cloth, and a sharp pain in his thighs has him glancing down as his own hands grapple with his assailant. They’re mostly human feet, clad in black socks, but there’s a glint of something sharp protruding from the cloth. 

A human- or something close to it- has leapt on his back, wrapped long legs around his waist and wiry arms around his shoulder and chest, and is clinging as tightly as a mynock on a ship’s hull. His assailant is growling, low and threatening, full of purpose into his ear as his shawl is ripped and pulled away. 

Kylo struggles to remove the iron-clad grip of the arms and legs from around him, but this individual is strong and there’s desperation, ferocity in the sense of their mind that is purely bestial. Most importantly, he senses _hunger_. 

There’s a clicking, a snapping, and Kylo feels jaws trying to clamp onto his throat, he can feel actual fangs, sharp and strong, pressing into the armoured cloth around his neck. He’s had enough, he is not going to be taken down so easily. He can’t dislodge his attacker, but maybe he can stun him enough to get him to weaken his grip. 

Kylo does the first thing he can think of- falling backwards to drop his weight onto his attacker, knock the wind out of him, and shock him into letting go. 

Either he shifted his weight too slowly, too purposely, or his tensing muscles gave him away, but as he falls backwards, he knows he somehow broadcast his intentions, as the wiry thing clinging to him manages to swing around so he’s clinging to Kylo’s front, and pushes backwards to add momentum to his fall. 

The back of Kylo’s head hits the deck, and stars explode before his eyes. He can’t dwell on the ringing in his ears, or the sparks in his vision, as hands are ripping at his armour, trying to expose his throat. He holds out his hands and tries to throw him backwards with the Force.

He’s horrified when it pushes the man’s torso backwards, but his flexible spine allows him to bend over backwards, his slender, powerful thighs still clamped onto his hips. It takes him mere moments to get back upright, and Kylo sees the man’s face for the first time.

He’s young- probably only a few years older than Kylo himself- and pale. His face is gaunt, there are shadows under his eyes, which are a glittering grey-green with enormous pupils. There’s faint freckles across his nose and cheeks, and his mouth is curled in a snarl, revealing mildly sharp lateral incisors, long, very sharp canines, and wicked looking pre-molars. 

Kylo hadn’t been sensing a beast. He’d been sensing… whatever this man was. 

This man wasn’t human. 

He gapes too long, lets his feelings get the better of him, and before he can go back on the offensive, the man lunges again. His hands grab at the collar of his robes, pulling the cloth away from his neck. Kylo struggles with the man’s hands, tries to roll over, to get him off. 

The wiry legs clamp tighter around his hips, and rolling over only allows him to wrap those long legs around him and lock his ankles together. The man hisses and spits, a low deep growl rattling at the base of his throat. And again, all Kylo can sense from his mind is a deep burning desperate hunger. 

He can’t make out the thoughts from this man, but he shouldn’t be surprised- he mistook his presence in the Force as a beast, not a human. He has, for all Kylo can tell, gone feral, and the human logic that might have been there is gone. All that remains is hunger, and a desperation to triumph in order to sate it. 

Kylo isn’t sure if he should be terrified, or if he should pity this man. How is he so hungry, so desperate? The gauntness of his cheeks, the lean wiry set of his build certainly speaks of borderline malnutrition, but the First Order never treats food as a luxury. It’s not given as a reward, nor is it denied as a punishment. The food may not always taste the best, especially the ration bars and pastes, but there are daily meals that have actual food that are decent- at least Kylo thinks so, in any case. And from what he hears, the upper echelons eat even better. 

The rank on his arm indicates he’s just in the bracket of officers that eat a little better than troopers, but his age says he may not have been a Captain for long. Still, quality does not mean starvation, and this man looks like someone who only gets fed every three days. Kylo suspects this man was ordered to attack him, and was promised food if he succeeded- and it almost makes him want to tilt his head back, expose his throat and let him win. 

Almost.

He’s also terrified the man may not stop if his lips meet his throat, that those fangs will rip open his carotid, and bleed him dry. 

He doesn’t get the chance to decide if he should let the man win.

* * *

Hux refuses to let go. 

He’s hungry, he’s angry, he wants more than anything to dominate this man, to hear him yield so he can move on to the real hunt. 

He was surprised when the blast hit him. If he hadn’t been keeping his frame loose, limber to avoid being overthrown, it might have snapped his spine. As it was, his flexible frame made limber for the fight, went with the punches, and allowed him to get back to it. He clung to the man, thighs clamped tight, fingers curling into fabric, claws piercing the material and scrabbling, trying to rip the flesh underneath. His jaws snap, fangs clicking as he hisses, growling all the while with subharmonics and undertones that, had the other man been Arkanan, would have recognised as “SUBMIT.”

He doesn’t submit, and when they roll over, and Hux stares into the odd mask, he smells the most disgusting scent he could ever smell on any human being. It curdles, it feels like slime in his nose, it’s cloying and sickly sweet, and not in the delicious way that rot and decay smells, the scent of the swamps back on Arkanis that so enthralled him.

This is worse. This is vile, disgusting, and Hux hates the man for it, wants to ignore his orders and kill him for it. 

It’s _pity_. 

**_How dare he._ **

Hux lunges and closes the distance between his mouth and the other man’s throat. His claws dig through the cloth, puncture the armour, and pierce the skin underneath. The scent of blood fills the air- salt, copper, heat, and adrenaline. 

He’s forced onto his back as the man rolls him over, his instinct to survive, to fight igniting with the pain and the scent of his own blood, but Hux has smelled it, his pity, and he won’t give in, won’t let go. This man will have to cut off his limbs or rip off his head to let him go. He snarls, and the growl that’s been rumbling in his chest turns into a roar of fury and hunger as he bends his knees, places the flat of his feet against the other man’s calves, and digs the claws of his toes into the muscle. At the same time, he pulls his torso close, claws digging deeper still into the pectorals. 

The scent of pity is gone, there is only pain, rage, and _fear_. 

Hux drinks it in, and closes his mouth on the man’s throat. 

* * *

Kylo freezes as he feels the razor sharp teeth on his throat, and his heart pounds. 

What is this man, in that all attempts to fling him away, to shake him off, are met with nothing but resistance? How is it he is able to cling to him, how is it he has such strength despite being so thin, wiry, and clearly malnourished?

Why does he have fangs and claws, and why, how, does he growl like a tuk’ata?

He hates himself. Snoke will be disappointed in him. His training will resume, twice as hard, but there are fangs on his carotid, there are claws in his chest, and he cannot shake the man who holds his life in his jaws. 

Oddly, he’s not biting down. 

He’s panting, his pulse loud in Kylo’s ears, his breath steaming hot against his throat. His jaws are perfectly still, and though the points of his fangs press into the skin, they do not break it. 

Kylo senses anticipation, expectation, and he realises that he’s expected to yield. 

Kylo closes his eyes, and lets his body go limp. He lets go of the other man, and lies still on the floor. 

“I yield,” he says softly. 

The man doesn’t relent, not immediately. He’s still, unmoving, as if trying to detect deceit. When Kylo doesn’t put up any resistance, the claws in his chest and calves retract. Kylo lets out a breath and waits for the fangs to pull away. 

* * *

Hux lets go with his claws, but for a moment, he lets his mouth linger over the throat, letting his breath waft over the pale skin, feeling the pulse just beneath his fangs. He can feel the heartbeat of the man above him, pulsing in his chest, his limbs, thrumming with life, adrenaline and fear. 

He relented. He yielded. The pity is gone, and respectful, intelligent fear replaced it. Hux appreciates this.

His growl turns to a low rich churr, a throaty rumble as he releases the man’s throat after running his long rough tongue over the pulse under the skin. He closes his mouth and lets his head fall back to the floor, eyes glittering as he looks into the mask above him. The man simply stares at him, and the two of them lie on the floor, tangled in long limbs, their bodies trembling with the release and fade of adrenaline. 

If getting a real meal for the first time in years hadn’t ridden on this fight, Hux might have found the entire situation arousing. As it was, the feel of this man’s body on his is exquisite… and this sort of scuffle… he knows without being told that this is a form of courtship with his kind. 

Which makes him realise that because this man failed to dominate him, he isn’t worthy of rutting with. 

“Get off. We’re done,” he growls. “Let me up so I may go eat.”

* * *

Kylo blinks as the man growls at him. He’s already taken aback by the warm, flat, rough tongue caressing his throat, the rumble from the other man. Now he’s all too aware of how he’s on top of him, how his lithe body feels beneath him. It feels good, even if he did just have claws buried in his legs and chest and teeth nearly in his throat. 

He rolls off him, and gets to his feet, scooping up his shawl and draping it back around his shoulders, pulling the hood back over his head. He feels confused, ashamed. He lost, even though he ended up on top. He yielded. 

And now all this man wanted was to go eat.

“Eat?” Kylo asked. 

The other man gets to his feet in one fluid motion that makes Kylo feel clumsy. He straightens his uniform and smooths the front of his tunic. He isn’t wearing boots, but still looks regal, as though he’s a General, not a Captain. His bearing speaks of a life in the military, the Academy, but when he strides off, his gait is long, quick and fluid like a predator- and equally as silent. 

Kylo follows after him, back towards the cargo bay. He isn’t sure what the man meant. 

“What’s your name?”

“You didn’t give me yours, should I give you mine?” the man retorts. 

His mind rankles with hunger. 

“I am Kylo Ren, the Supreme Leader’s apprentice, and a member of the Knights of Ren,” he supplies, mildly irritated that he’s yielded again. 

“I am Captain Armitage Cuán Hux,” the Captain says after a few moments of silence without breaking his stride. “And I am hungry.”

“The ship isn’t stocked, where are you even going?” Kylo asks. 

“To claim what the Supreme Leader promised me.”

“Which is?” Kylo presses. 

“My dinner.” 

* * *

Infuriatingly, Kylo Ren follows him to the cargo bay. He doesn’t ask him many questions after Hux refuses to elucidate what he meant, or what Snoke promised him. It’s his own fault, Hux decides, if he gets sick, or scared when he sees what happens. 

“You are not allowed to stop me,” he says as they reach the cargo bay and he approaches the shuttle. 

“Stop you from what?” Ren asks.

“Having my dinner.”

He pauses. Should he let the pilot run? Would it better to kill him in the open or in the shuttle? He considers, the turns and heads to a console. He shuts the door to the cargo bay, and opens one door to an adjacent ready room. It doesn’t have any of the lockers or outfittings for idling pilots yet. Just the benches along the walls and a small open space with a flat clean floor… and no escape. 

Perfect. 

With only one place for his prey to go, Hux returns to the cargo bay and boards the shuttle. 

* * *

Kylo watches as Hux shuts the cargo bay doors, opens a ready room, and steps inside the shuttle. He isn’t stupid, and he starts to understand what’s going on. He doesn’t like it, but it’s starting to make sense. Why he looks so gaunt, why he’s so desperate to earn the right to eat. 

He pushes himself in a shadow. He wants to leave, doesn’t want to be there for what he suspects is going to happen- he can see the mental images in Hux’s mind. He stays, because he believes Snoke would want him to, because this is very likely important to his training. 

He hears a shriek from the shuttle, and a moment later, the pilot trips and stumbles out. He’s wide eyed, panicked, and he bolts for the first illusion of safety he sees- the ready room. A blur of motion follows, and Kylo watches in horror as Hux bolts out of the shuttle on all fours after the man. 

His eyes are softly glowing, and there’s a tuft of red fur sticking out of the back of his collar from his back. His claws are fully extended, and he’s practically foaming at the mouth. Kylo thinks he may be going mad, but he would swear that his feet look elongated, that his arms are longer than he remembers. 

What came out of the shuttle wasn’t human. What runs into the ready room after the pilot is a monster. What comes out of the ready room is a horrendous eruption of screams. 

* * *

Perhaps it’s a good thing he got his urge to fight out of his system. He’d have been disappointed otherwise, for it doesn’t take long to overwhelm the man after he’s cornered him in the ready room. 

Hux had only to flash his fangs and growl the word “Run,” and the man nearly wet himself, fleeing the shuttle. Too easy, and now, even easier still, he’s on the ground, and Hux has his teeth in his neck. 

The screams die off quickly enough- he doesn’t like them, they’re distracting. What he wants is the blood. He opens the throat easily enough, and he drinks deep and long. The blood is warm, salty and rich, and it coats his throat, invigorating him. He purrs and nuzzles into the flow, lapping and drinking like a pup at a teat. 

He rips at the flight suit and tears it off, exposing the man’s torso. The life is fading from him, Hux having drank his lifeblood, and Hux wastes no time. He rips claws into the skin, pulls it back and exposes the ribs. The man thrashes, unable to scream with his ruined throat, as Hux sinks claws into his ribs and cracks them open. The heart beats, weakly, and his hand grasps it, pulls it free from its moorings. 

With a low, deep, continuous purr, Hux bites into the heart, taking large, greedy bites, using his tongue to pull the blood from the chambers. Blood dribbles down his chin, down his neck, and he continues to purr. The lean muscle is so tender, so good, and it only awakens his hunger that has long been denied. 

His bloody claws dip back into the chest, pulling out the liver, and he pulls pieces off almost delicately, chewing the warm rich organ meat with gusto and no small amount of pleasure. It’s gone in less than a minute, and he’s moving on to the pancreas- one of his favourites, rich and sweet. 

He doesn’t lose himself this time as he feeds. He’s in full control of himself, and he has no qualms, no compunctions, no shame at what he’s doing. What he’s doing is natural. It’s survival, it’s indulgence, it’s what he was born to do. 

He’s an Arkanan, and this is his _birthright._

* * *

Kylo risks looking into the ready room when the screams stop. He thinks he knows what he’ll see, what is happening inside, but nothing prepares him for the actuality. 

Hux sits in the ruins of the pilot, covered in blood and gore. The man’s chest is a ruin of cracked ribs and an empty chest cavity. The limbs have been dismembered, stripped of muscle, and the bones have been cracked open for the marrow. 

Hux is churring happily, gnawing on a rib, ripping the meat from the bone. His face is coated with blood, though it’s smeared from where he’s obviously been trying to lick his face clean, and then gave up. His eyes are glittering, glowing, and his pupils are dilated in pleasure as he cracks the rib between his jaws and sucks out the marrow. 

He’s been careful with his kill- the stomach and intestines are in a pile, wrapped in the flight suit to keep them from rupturing and fouling the room with the stench of shit and partially digested food. 

Kylo thought he’d seen gore before, that he could handle what he’d suspected he’d see, but when his eyes fall on the skull, stripped of flesh, empty sockets staring at the ceiling, his stomach clenches with nausea. He looks away, but does not vomit. He meets Hux’s eyes, and he sees respect in them for not leaving, for not vomiting. 

Kylo hopes Hux doesn’t offer to share. He doesn’t want to offend him, but he cannot- will not- eat human flesh. 

Hux does not share.

* * *

Hux rumbles, his belly distended, bloated with his meal, and once he finishes sucking the last rib clean, he stretches, and begins grooming himself. He licks his fingers clean, his palms, then uses them to groom his face. 

He respects Kylo Ren for his fortitude. He remembers how Brendol had vomited, how Pryde had been silently horrified, how Brooks had squealed like a stuck nerf when they saw what he’d done to the failed trooper. 

Ren flinches, but does not waver. 

He almost considers offering him a bite, but his hunger, so long denied, and his territorial urges refuse to allow it. This kill is his, he earned it, it’s his right, no one else may have any of it. 

When he’s groomed himself as best he can, he stretches, the rumbling in his chest so loud it vibrates the bones on the floor. He looks up and meets Ren’s eyes. Amber brown meet grey-green, and Kylo Ren swallows hard. 

“What are you?” he asks softly. 

Hux flashes his fangs in a grin, and for the first time in his life, he says with pride:

“I’m Arkanan.”


	3. Going Feral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternative Title: Hux is a Stinky Pupper
> 
> Hux and Kylo get sent on a mission together. Their first night goes about as well as you expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for some allusions to Brendol blackmailing Hux's mom into having sex with him.
> 
> PangolinPirate was amazing and drew some BEAUTIFUL art for this chapter, please give it a look [here!](https://twitter.com/PangolinPirate/status/1306454583955292161)

Brendol doesn’t know what to expect upon the return of Armitage to the Absolution. He hopes that his bastard son failed- surely he did, he was pitted against the Supreme Leader’s apprentice. 

He doesn’t want his son to succeed. If he succeeds, it means he will have fed. Armitage is dangerous when well fed, not starved. He’s kept hungry for a reason, kept on the edge of starvation to keep his mind clouded, his thinking slowed, his ambition tempered. 

The last time his bastard son had properly fed, he’d nearly gutted Pryde. 

It’s Maratelle’s fault he has this monstrous bastard as a son, his legacy. If she’d been able to give him a child, had been able to carry to term, then he wouldn’t have had to seek other options. It was her fault he’d allowed himself to indulge in a fetish.

He was a proud Arkanan man, but most importantly, he was a proud Arkanan _human_ man. He lived in the capital, he worked for the Empire, he was a man of civility, taste, and culture. He would never be caught running through the woods, the swamps, or skittering over the rocky coastlines like an animal. 

That hadn’t stopped his interest in the woman who worked in the Academy kitchens. She was gorgeous, with blood red hair, glittering green eyes and freckles across her intelligent, cunning face that was lean and vulpine with a sharp nose and angled cheekbones. Her svelte figure was not his usual cup of tea- he liked his women with meat on them, with ample curves to the breasts, hips and buttocks- but there had been something in the way Niamh Ruadhain moved that had him hypnotised. She swayed, flowed, like a predator weaving through the wind. 

He hadn’t always been a ruined slob of a man- according to Sloane, that is. He’d once been in his prime, slender, handsome, with a shock of ginger hair and sharp, cold grey eyes that he once fancied had been as smart and calculating as Tarkin’s, and had many socialites tittering at more than one formal during the heyday of the Empire. He’d never had to look far for physical company, and never had a woman turn down his advances. 

Until Niamh, that is. 

Niamh ignored his flirtation, didn’t respond to his advances, and any gifts he left for her might as well have been thrown straight into the trash, for all the notice she gave them. Brooks laughed at him, for being a “tail chaser” as well as being ignored by a swamp dog. 

Brendol wasn’t even sure why he wanted the feral woman so badly, but her cold shoulder was very much a large part of it. The more she ignored him, the more he wanted her- to the point where if she was going to play hard to get, then he was going to play hardball. 

He’d blackmailed her into sleeping with him, threatening to have her fired for going feral on a guest. She never did- never would- but it would have been her word against his. He also had Brooks and Pryde more than willing to back him up in that regard. Out of desperation to keep her job, she relented- though Brendol flattered himself that she might have admired his tenacity. 

It had been everything he’d wanted- a feral, snarling mess of a woman, wild sex, with claws in the sheets and fangs flashing, and fur bristling. He paid her for her time, and shortly after, she was gone- to have his son.

He still doesn’t know if he made the right choice to take the whelp from her, and it’s been more than two decades since he took him into space with Sloane. 

He’s horrified as the shuttle arrives, and Armitage gets off with the Supreme Leader’s apprentice- and it’s obvious he’s fed. His eyes are bright, glittering, and his face is full of vigour and colour. His expression is content, and to Brendol’s horror, his stomach is actually a bit distended under his tunic. 

He makes a mental note to slip grains into Armitage’s next meal if he can manage it, to make him ill, slow, foggy. Armitage when he’s well fed, especially on human flesh, is dangerous. His mind is clear, and his predatory intelligence is allowed to be fuelled unhindered by ambition set free by being nourished.

Brendol watches as the masked apprentice heads for the large new black shuttle that’s been waiting for their return, and disappears inside. Armitage is approaching, and Brendol forces himself to look at him. The boy has a report to make, it seems. 

“I won’t be returning with you to the Absolution,” Armitage says, and he actually _belches_ behind a fist. “I have a mission with Kylo Ren.” 

“Like the Void you do,” Brendol barks. “You have duties to return to!”

“My mission, my orders, are from Supreme Leader Snoke himself, take it up with him,” Armitage says bluntly, then turns to follow Ren into the Shuttle. 

Brendol wishes he could pull his blaster on the whelp, to shoot him and end his existence right then and there. Instead, he watches him disappear into the shuttle, a trooper behind him with a crate of supplies. He has an idea as the shuttle takes off. 

“Take us back to the Finalizer,” he says to the pilot, heading back for the Lambda.

—

He’s _furious_. 

Armitage has used the quarters. The bed’s linens are rumpled, slept in, and the bed positively _reeks_ of that odd, heady musk his son is capable of producing; the refresher was used, water still beaded on the floor; and the toilet stinks of Armitage’s feral-smelling piss. 

This ship was _his_. It was new, and he was the most senior, aside from Sloane, but she’s been planet-side with the Chiss more and more as of late. This ship is supposed to be _his_ , and Brooks was to get the Absolution. 

Let loose into the Finalizer to play games with the Supreme Leader’s apprentice, the first thing Armitage does is to make the Commanding Officer’s quarters smell like a kennel. 

Brendol has a cleaning crew come in to scrub the ‘fresher and strip the bed. It’ll be weeks before the scent of his son’s musk leaves the room. 

—

Kylo has never been more turned off by someone in his entire life. 

They were sent to a remote forested world to seek out an artefact for Snoke- some kind of kyber that’s resistant to cortosis. The planet is not developed, and is rumoured to have ruins that once belonged to Grey Jedi. Their job is to work together as a team, and find it, then bring it back to Snoke. 

The planet is a few degrees shy of being temperate, and Kylo can tell the night will get cold. The planet’s violet skies are almost completely overcast, and a slight mist hangs in the forest- it’s semi permanent, from what Kylo can tell, similar to Endor. The trees are a mix of coniferous and deciduous, and the undergrowth is thick, hiding game trails and movements of any locals. 

And somehow, in the first ten minutes of being on the planet, Hux has not only found something dead, but he’s rolled in it.

Hux had sniffed the air intently when they got off the Vulture, and without a word, only a churr of delight, vanished into the undergrowth. Kylo had followed after him as best he could, and broke through thorny vines to see Hux rolling on the ground on something that looked like decayed flesh and bones, churring madly as he rolled and writhed on top of it on his back. 

And Kylo is utterly disgusted by it. 

“What… what the kriff are you _doing_?” he asks, watching Hux roll in the remains. 

“Rolling?” Hux replies, confused. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“In something dead.”

“It… smells nice,” Hux replies, almost a question, as though Kylo should know this. 

“No, no it doesn’t. It smells like… well. Death. Decay. Rot. Gross.” 

Hux says nothing, lifting a brow as if to say ‘yes, that’s the point,’ then goes back to rolling in the remains. 

Kylo suddenly hopes against all hope they packed more than one tent.

  
—

Kylo stays upwind of Hux as they unload supplies and divide them into packs for their excursion. To Kylo’s dismay, there is only one tent, likely to reduce weight in their packs. There’s also very little food, save for ration bars, which Hux sneers at with a snort, and shoves them all in Kylo’s direction. 

“You have to eat, too, you know,” Kylo says, trying to shove half back at him. 

“I will get food from whatever it is we encounter that is made of flesh and bone,” Hux replies snidely. “I won’t eat those. Full of grains. Poison.” 

Kylo blinks at looks at the ration bars. 

“Grains are poison?”

“For me they might as well be,” Hux replies. “Grains and certain starches make me ill, as I cannot digest them, and they upset my body’s ability to absorb nutrients from the things I _can_ digest.”

He shoves the first aid kit into his pack, along with flares and an extra power pack for his blaster, though it’s done in a manner that screams ‘just in case,’ to Kylo, and he suspects Hux prefers his claws and fangs over a blaster if given the choice. He shoves his own small bag of personal items- and medications- into his own pack and shoulders it. Hux finishes packing his bag and straps it to his back. Kylo is glad he has the tent in his bag along with the sleeping rolls. 

“Your clothes are going to stink,” he comments. Hux snorts.

“To you. I love the smell, but that’s not the point. It will hide the scent of detergent and soap, of clean ships and shuttle fumes- things that mark us as unfamiliar and not native to this planet. It’s camouflage,” he replies. 

It’s a good point, but Hux still _stinks_.

—

Night has fallen, and Hux could keep going, but Kylo can’t see very well compared to him, and they’ve both been up for hours. Hux is well fed, and slept well the night before, but Kylo is clearly exhausted. He begrudgingly agrees to stop for the night, and Kylo sets up camp. 

To Kylo’s horror, there’s only one tent, but Hux immediately scoffs at the non-issue and makes himself a nest out of his bedroll, leaves and grass. Once his sleeping arrangement is made, he lifts his head and sniffs the night air as Kylo assembles the tent in the firelight. 

“You don’t want to sleep in the tent?”

“No. Also, I stink, remember?” Hux asks, still sniffing, his head turning slowly as he hones on a particular scent. He curls his lip and growls, a look of excitement crossing his face.

Kylo doesn’t have time to ask what Hux is excited about- he’s gone in an instant, a black and red blur disappearing into the underbrush with a delighted growl. He hears Hux scrabbling through the bushes and leaves, hears him growling and panting, and then there’s a squeal and a snap. Hux emerges from the underbrush, dragging a small hoofed animal behind him. Blood is splattered over his hands and mouth, and he is positively beaming, his eyes glittering in the firelight. 

“Dinner?” Hux asks as he drops the animal by the fire. Kylo blinks. 

“I didn’t think you’d be keen on sharing.”

“I ate earlier, so I’m not as ravenous, and willing to share. I imagine fresh meat will be better than rations,” Hux replies, his eyes studying Kylo carefully. 

“I can’t argue with that,” Kylo says. He isn’t sure why, but he senses that refusing the offer would cause a major gap to for between them, that it would be an insult to Hux if he doesn’t accept the offer of sharing the kill. His gut isn’t wrong, as Hux looks pleased with his acceptance of the offer as he plops down beside the fire with the carcass, his claws extending.

“Do you need help with- “

He’s cut off as Hux slices his claws through the animal’s pelt, rending it open from throat to groin. He works his claws under he edges, and deftly skins his kill. Kylo watches in mild amazement as Hux gets to work efficiently cleaning the animal and prepping it for butchering. 

“You’re good at this. I was expecting something more like….”

“The kill I made on the Finalizer? Not my most elegant, but I was on the verge of starvation,” Hux says, almost sounding sheepish. 

He fillets sections of the meat and hands them to Kylo so he can spit them and put them over the fire to cook. Once he’s done giving Kylo half the meat for cooking, he sets upon his share- still on the bones. Kylo sighs and looks away, turning his attention away from the crunching, cracking, and squishing noises of Hux’s feeding. He focuses on the meat roasting over the open flames, and his mouth waters at the scent. 

“It’s been a while since I had actual meat, this is nice,” he says to break the silence. “Thank you for sharing.” 

“For this trip at least, you are my pack,” Hux replies, lifting his bloody face from the exposed ribcage he’s been gorging from. “As such, I will share my kills with you. You’re no good to me hungry.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Kylo says dryly, but the smirk on his face softens his tone. He’d been right in that refusing to share would have caused great offence to Hux. 

He pulls the meat from the fire and sets it aside to rest, and pulls off his boots and outer armour while he waits. The night air feels good, and the forest is quiet- especially after Hux had made his kill. The air is temperate, slightly cool, and the forest smells clean, fresh. Between the smell of the forest, the fire and the roasting meat, he can _almost_ ignore the scent of whatever it is Hux rolled in, and the gore of his butchered kill. 

He digs into his meat- it’s tender, and seasoned with hunger. It’s delicious, and he eats ravenously- almost as ravenously as Hux. The Captain purrs, licking his bloody fingers, watching Kylo eat his dinner. He looks pleased, from what Kylo can tell, his green eyes glowing eerily in the firelight. 

“Not going to finish it?” he asks as he sees Kylo set aside the rest of the meat. 

“Saving it for later,” Kylo replies, wrapping it up and tucking it into his pack. “We should get some sleep. Better to sleep on a full stomach.” 

“Your feet stink,” Hux says, grooming blood from his claws. “Maybe a bath first?”

“You’re kidding me, right? You are covered in gore, you rolled in something dead, and you don’t like how my feet smell?”

Hux says nothing, only getting to his feet and dragging the remains of his kill into the brush and away from the campsite. When he doesn’t come back immediately, Kylo sighs and gets up to follow after him- hoping the Captain isn’t going to roll in his own kill. He actually doesn’t mind the feral nature of he other man, it’s refreshing, given how stiff most First Order officers are. He just wishes he could understand him. 

He can hear the sound of water, and he follows it through the undergrowth. There’s splashing, and Kylo comes out of the brush to see Hux standing by a creek. There’s no sign of his kill- and there’s also no sign of Hux’s tunic. The Captain is undressing. Kylo stares, taken aback by the sight. 

Above, the clouds break, and the three moons of the planet cast their light down between the branches of the forest. Hux’s skin practically glows in the white light, the only interruption in the smooth pale skin being the thick crest of fur running between his shoulder blades, along his spine and ending somewhere under the waist of his pants. The fur is thick, long enough to where Kylo imagines he could grab a full handful- even with his large hands- and in the moonlight, it’s black, but with a blood red sheen. 

Hux is thin- thinner than Kylo had imagined. His frame is lean, wiry, and his muscles are evident, showing what strength he’s capable of, but he has practically no fat on his body, and it’s even more evident he’s constantly living in a state of borderline starvation and malnutrition. 

But what has Kylo staring, gaping, is the glowing whorls, swirls and dots on Hux’s back, streaking outward from his crest and over his sides, his ribs, shoulders and down the backs of his arms. They’re a pale yellow green, glowing softly in the moonlight, and the marks have a thrumming, pulsing quality to them. They’re beautiful and haunting, and they make Kylo think of the foxfire lights he’d seen in the swamps of Naboo as a child. 

“Hux…. What are….”

Hux ignores him and strips the rest of his clothes off, revealing that the marks go along his rump, down his legs to his ankles. The crest of his fur ends at his tailbone, where the fur is thicker, covers the cleft of his buttocks, and Kylo can see that much of the markings originate and spiral out from it. Hux turns to face Kylo, and aside from the slight distending of his stomach from his meal, Kylo jolts at how _thin_ Hux is. It’s obvious he doesn’t eat much, and his comment from earlier- the comment about grains being poison- resurfaces in his mind. 

“You weren’t kidding when you said grains keep you from digesting all other food, were you?” he asks.

Hux snorts and wades into the water. The creek bottoms out near the middle, and the water reaches just above his waist. He dips his hands into the water and cleans his long fingers off, then uses the clean wet digits to wipe at his bloodied mouth. He takes a breath, then dips beneath the water. Kylo can see his markings glow even brighter under the surface of the creek’s cold water before he emerges, water spraying in the night air like diamonds under the moonlight. 

“You should bathe, too,” Hux says, his hair dripping. “You stink.” 

Kylo doesn’t have time to answer- Hux lunges forward with a playful grin and grabs him, pulling him into the water. Kylo lets out an angry sound as the cold water soaks his clothes and into his bones. Anger sparks in his chest, and he grabs at the thick fur on Hux’s back, flipping him over. As he does, his feet slip on the rocky bottom of the creek, and he falls on top of Hux. 

The two of them stare at each other. Hux eyes glitter up at Kylo, his tapetum lucidum catching the moonlight, glowing that eerie yellow green. His chest rises and falls, the glowing markings on his skin shining as his muscles flex. Kylo stares down at him, his mouth dry, because Hux looks feral and beautiful in the light, glistening and shining from his glowing eyes and marks, and the moonlight catching on the water beaded on his skin. 

Also, because there is a decidedly thick boner prodding at Kylo’s groin. 

Kylo leaps up and shoves Hux back into the creek, the other man spluttering. He gets up and heads back to camp. Hux surfaces and watches him go, his eyes narrowed, a smirk curling his mouth. 

Kylo strips, taking off his wet clothes and leaving them by the fire. He can hear Hux splashing and purring as he cavorts in the water. Even at this distance, with undergrowth separating them, Kylo can see flashes of Hux’s bio-luminescent markings. He scowls, sitting there on a rock in his skivvies, hoping his clothes will dry enough before Hux comes back. He’s still flushing from their encounter, unable to really process what had happened. 

_Don’t be an idiot, he had a boner when you pinned him down, and he’d been almost disappointed back on the Finalizer when he’d beaten you so easily. This guy gets a thrill from being evenly matched, apparently._

At least, that was what his mind is telling him, anyway. 

Kylo runs his fingers idly over his chest, almost as if to reassure himself that his well maintained muscles are still in place, and hiding the scars he’s still too proud to get rid of, but still too shy to flaunt. The idle thought that Hux has marks of his own that are more interesting than his scars crosses his mind, and he wonders at them. 

Nearly an hour goes by, and Kylo is sliding into his pants and undershirt, finally dry, when Hux comes out of the brush, still wet and glowing- and naked. Kylo averts his eyes, but not before he gets an eyeful of the thick fur covering Hux’s groin, similar to the fur on his back. To his relief, Hux is no longer sporting a boner, and the glance he’d gotten only had fur, and no sign of his dick. Hidden under the fur? Was it in a sheath? 

Kylo knew Hux wasn’t entirely human, but tonight’s events just cement this in his head. He’s okay with this, though. He’s grown up with non-humans, lived with them… even had considered some as family once. He has no issue with Hux’s state-or lack- of humanity.

“What…. What are those markings, Hux?” Kylo asks, still averting his eyes as Hux settles into his nest and begins grooming himself- nit picking at his claws to ensure they’re free of gore before running them through his hair, and then twisting around to run them through the thick fur on his back. The flexibility of the man takes Kylo by surprise, and he watches in silence as Hux purrs softly during his grooming. 

“A symbiotic fungus from Arkanis,” Hux says after a few silent minutes, straightening himself and settling into his nest, legs crossed. 

“There are various types of native Arkanans. My mother was one- from the swamplands,” he explains, trailing a fingertip over a whorl of glowing yellow green on his thigh. 

“Swampland Arkanans often end up with the native fungus in their fur, and for whatever reason, there’s something about their skin chemistry that encourages the growth, and a symbiosis between Arkanan and fungus. The Arkanan provides a passive form of support, protection, a mobile method of spreading spores. In return, the spore helps the Arkanan sense water, the presence of nearby pack members, and a deeper connection between those with similar strains of spore, which allows packs to hunt more efficiently, as their methods can be almost silent. The spore allows for almost a mental link, a connection between pack members, as they can feel each other through the connection between the spore colonies.”

Kylo is entranced- he knew nothing of the natives of Arkanis, let alone that they weren’t human, and had various sub-types affected by biome. He's also encouraged- this is the most Hux has spoken to him since they met. 

“What affects the markings? Are they all the same colours?”

Hux shrugs. 

“I don’t know much about it, I was raised outside a pack. I only know what little I learnt from my mother until the Republic siege of the Academy happened, and Brendol and I were extracted. What I do know is that my markings are always the same- Brendol tried ridding me of my fungus, but I managed to keep a small bit in my fur, and coaxed it back. Using lotion and other methods, I ‘trained’ it to stay in areas covered by my uniform so Brendol wouldn’t have me shaved.” 

Kylo blinks at that- even though having a ridge of fur on his own back seems unnatural, imagining Hux without it, after the interactions he’s had with Hux so far, seems just as unnatural. 

“I take it Brendol is your human parent.”

“He sired me, yes,” Hux snarls, but his vitriol isn’t aimed at Kylo. “And then he took me from my mother, my pack, then starved me so I grew up thin and slight, and shamed me for it. He removed my fangs, tried to remove my claws. He would have had my venom sacs removed, had the doctor not told him it likely would have killed me, and that my venom was far more useful to the Order if I was ‘milked’ every week so it could be studied.” 

Kylo has nothing to say about the abuse, the removal of fang and claw- his brain is frozen on Hux being venomous. 

“Venom? You have venom?”

Hux chuckles softly, seeing Kylo’s pale face, knowing he’s worrying if he ingested meat full of venom, knowing that he’s realising how dangerous it was for Hux to have pressed his fangs against his throat. 

“It takes a lot of effort to actually inject my venom, as well as the conscious decision to do so. I wouldn’t have given you meat with venom in it, nor would I have bitten and injected venom into you. You’re the Supreme Leader’s apprentice- and I am worth a lot less than you,” he says almost bitterly. 

“You should be worth a lot more,” Kylo counters. “You’re fast, strong, and venomous with incredible control- even when malnourished. I think my Knights of Ren would appreciate your willpower and strength.” 

Hux smiles a bit, but Kylo might have imagined it, it’s so fleeting. 

“We need to sleep. Or rather- you sleep. I’ll take first watch.” 

“I wanted to ask-”

“No more questions, please,” Hux says gently, but his tone is firm. “Sleep. When we get started again in the morning… maybe I’ll feel more up to answering them. Right now, I need to digest my meal, and you need to rest.” 

Kylo sighs, but Hux is right. He’s exhausted, and when he crawls into his tent and flops onto his bedroll, he’s asleep before his body even halfway done settling. His dreams are full of Hux chasing him through water and pinning him down, sinking his teeth into his neck and his cock between his legs. When Hux wakes him for his shift to stand watch while he naps, Kylo only prays to the Force that Hux can’t smell the arousal on him from having wet dreams about the strange near-human he’s been thrown into an odd partnership with. 


	4. Asserting Dominance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo learns a bit more about Hux, and uses his new knowledge to bond a bit more with the feral officer. Meanwhile, the two hone in on their target, and Hux takes point on a dangerous obstacle.

Kylo enjoys the solitude of standing watch as Hux sleeps that night. The planet was easier to meditate on when Hux’s mind was quiet, sleeping- the Arkanan’s mind when conscious was a buzz of observations, calculation, evaluation, predatory focus, and hunger. Hux never seemed to be sated, and for Kylo, it was equal parts relatable and unnerving. 

He knew what it was like to be hungry- not in the physical sense, but the emotional, the mental sense, in that he hungered for validation, praise, anything that made him feel needed and wanted or worthy. He knew Snoke knew this, as Snoke’s praise never came without being preceded or followed by punishment or tortuous training. Snoke always paired his praise with pain or struggle so Kylo would willingly bash himself bloody for the validation he so craved, and Kylo knew this, but it was how the Dark Side worked. His pain opened him to the Dark Side, which made him stronger- but it also kept wounds open that needed that praise, that validation to keep him going through the pain. 

It was a vicious cycle, but necessary. 

He’s broken out of his reverie as something warm presses against his back. He jolts, and looks down to see Hux has plopped down beside him, curled up so his back is pressed against his lower back, and is sleeping again, curled into a tight ball. His breathing is very slow, deep and rhythmic, and Kylo can sense his heartbeat easily- and is shocked at how slow it is. 

_35… 36… 37… 38… 39…. 40…._

Forty beats per minute. Kylo’s a bit shocked- he only achieved a low heart rate like that when meditating. Yet Hux is lying there, sleeping, with an incredibly low heart rate, no meditation required. 

_You really aren’t human, are you?_ He thinks to himself, and wonders why Hux has curled up next to him- the night isn’t cold, and Hux had been near enough to the fire for warmth. 

He isn’t bothered, though, just curious. He isn’t even sure if Hux was awake when he curled up beside him. Hux is warm, and Kylo can feel the thick fur under his tunic. He glances down and sees that the markings on his skin are no longer glowing under his clothes. He wonders at that- do they only glow when exposed to water, maybe only at night, or in the dark… or with his hunger? There’s so much he doesn’t know about Hux, or his species. 

He considers. Hux had offered him part of his kill, had shown some concern for his hygiene, despite their less than cordial initial meeting, and was now curled up against his back. Was it possible that Hux’s species was pack oriented, and Hux needed to be close to someone whom he considered pack, even if only temporary? 

Or, Kylo muses, was he just touch starved like himself?

Dawn comes quicker than Kylo expects, and he doesn’t have to wake Hux- the other man stirs, rolls away and begins stretching before Kylo can even turn around to rouse him. Kylo winces, hearing his joints pop and crack as each limb is stretched and warmed up for their journey.

Kylo senses the embarrassment from Hux, and says nothing about the night before- and he hopes Hux won’t either, or that he didn’t notice the state he’d been in before Hux woke him for his watch. Better they both ignore their moments of vulnerability rather than make things awkward by talking about it. 

He digs some of the roasted meat from his pack and wolfs a bit down, then offers another piece to Hux. He knows it’s probably not as appetising as the raw meat he’d had before, but he gets the feeling that Hux will appreciate the gesture all the same. His feeling was right- Hux looks surprised, but grateful, and he takes the meat gently, and eats it carefully, almost delicately, making a sound of appreciation as he does. 

“Thank you,” he says after he polishes off the last bite, licking his lips and then his fingers carefully. “I didn’t expect you to have any left.” 

“I didn’t eat it all last night,” Kylo replies, wiping his mouth and noting how Hux is licking his chops, his sharp carnassial teeth flashing in the early morning light. “And I figured you’d want a bit to wake up with before we start off. You uh… you seem to digest meat fairly quickly.”

He doesn’t know how to say that Hux’s bloated, well-fed belly from the night before was already flatter. Hux nods and finishes running his tongue over his teeth, getting the last remnants of meat from between them- and Kylo can’t help but notice how his tongue looks rougher than normal. He packs his sleeping roll, and gets everything back into his pack. 

“I can sense the crystal to the north,” Kylo says, and starts off into the woods, his chosen path running parallel to the creek.

Hux matches Kylo’s stride easily, and as they make their way through the woods, he lifts his nose and sniffs the air, turning his head from side to side. Kylo isn’t sure he’s seeing it correctly, but he swears that he can see Hux’s ears twitch a bit, as though he’s trying to move them in ways that his human ears are not capable of moving. His suspicions are confirmed as he can sense Hux’s frustration at the limited range of motion of his human ears, and his inability to finely pin-point the sounds he’s hearing. 

Curious, Kylo pokes a bit more into Hux’s mind, past the emotions that are on the surface. Hux’s mind is foreign to him, and it’s layered in intricate mires and twists that don’t flow in the same way that he’s experienced with humanoid minds before. It’s like trying to find a path in unexplored woods that only the local fauna know, and Kylo hesitates on the edge, afraid to get lost in it. 

He stops completely when the first thing he feels past the first layer is the all-too-familiar feeling of one’s skin not fitting, of the body being a cage, and not being what the physical form is shaped like. Hux is quite literally a beast forced into the cage of a human body, and he is desperate to break free of it. 

Kylo pulls back quietly, feeling a sudden surge of camaraderie with Hux, as he knows the feeling of not fitting in the skin he was born with. If Hux noticed his prying, he makes no reaction, no sign that he has. He just continues forward, his nostrils flaring as he follows a trail north. Kylo isn’t sure if it’s game, or something else, but as long as it continues in the same direction of the pull from the crystal they’re seeking, he won’t complain. 

They make their way in almost amicable silence for a few hours, stopping once for lunch- Kylo eats the last of the cooked meat, which Hux refuses to share, as he finds himself a small burrowing creature that he all but devours whole. Thankfully, he does so out of view and earshot of Kylo, and he comes back, his head soaked from dunking it in the creek. 

Kylo can’t help but notice that his cheeks are a bit less gaunt, the dark circles under his eyes are fading, and the colour in his cheeks looks much healthier. He also notices that the fur on his back is slowly starting to reclaim the space between his hairline and collar- and the fur, where it’s wet, has sparks of glinting green. His eyes are far brighter, more alert, and the slight fog that Kylo had noticed in his mind when they first met was getting lighter with every meal. 

Hux is recovering and beginning to thrive in the woods, unfettered by the carnivorous diet he so clearly needs, and Kylo can’t help but wonder if that was part of Snoke’s plan- not just seeing them work together after being pitted against one another, but getting Hux into the wilds with free access to the meat his body needs- and to have him brought back to the Order nourished, and unhindered by food poisoning and malnutrition.

He is mildly annoyed, however, as every ten to twenty minutes, Hux darts out of view off their track, then comes back a few minutes later, and always looks awfully smug about it. There’s no blood on his claws or mouth, so he’s not eating, but he’s doing something, and Kylo is irritated- until he pries again the next time Hux ducks into the underbrush, and learns Hux is pissing on a tree. 

“Do you really have to piss that often?” Kylo asks when Hux comes back, adjusting his pants. Hux gives him a look, and there’s the barest twitch of his ears- Kylo swears that if his ears were the type to do so, they’d be flattened back against his head. 

“No, but I want to mark my territory, assert my dominance,” he finally says after a long awkward silence. 

“This isn’t your territory, though,” Kylo counters. Hux shakes his head. 

“No, it isn’t, but by marking it as mine, and being blatant with my dominance, it gives local predators cause to reconsider coming closer, or to challenge either of us.” 

Kylo blinks. He hadn’t sensed any other beings nearby, save for the harmless grazing ungulates, birds and other small creatures in the woods. Then it occurs to him he hasn’t because Hux has been keeping them at bay with his display, and scent marking. …that or Hux is pulling his leg, and there aren’t any other predators in this area. 

“Are you joking?” he asks, and he knows the question is stupid as soon as he asks, because the look on Hux’s face is so deadpan-incredulous, so full of flat disbelief that Kylo actually flushes in embarrassment. 

“Do I look like I joke? Ever?” he asked bluntly. 

“Not in the normal way, no,” Kylo responds, sheepish, and continues on. 

Hux makes a soft snort that sounds suspiciously like a laugh, and disappears into the brush once more. 

* * *

Kylo had expected a temple, or some ancient shrine, from what Snoke had told him, but what they eventually stumble on is a small cramped cave that he wouldn’t have noticed, due to the entrance being covered by vines and obscured by bushes. Hux is the one who notices it first, smelling the damp dusty air coming from inside, and he zeroes in on it like a hunting Kath hound. 

He’s a bit disappointed he didn’t notice it, he was so focused on getting close to the pull, and he reminds himself that he was sent on this mission to work with Hux, to learn how their strengths might bolster the weaknesses of the other. Hux’s sense of smell is a boon to his Force abilities that only sense a where, and not a how when seeking a specific object. 

Hux is through the entrance before Kylo, sniffing almost excitedly, and Kylo has a prickling sensation on the back of his neck as the Force urges him to take caution. They both know they’re not alone, and they’re going to meet resistance. 

The cave is cramped and small at the opening, but it tunnels deep, and Kylo suspects it goes for miles. He isn’t looking forward to going miles underground for an extended length of time- it’s claustrophobic and unnerving, and it’s dark. There’s a bit of relief as the tunnel widens and extends up after half a mile, and chambers begin to appear along various branches as the singular tunnel become a labyrinthine network of multiple passages. The relief Kylo felt turns to dread. How is he going to navigate this? 

Again, Hux proves he is a boon in this expedition, and he drops to hands and knees, sniffing the air and touching the dust on the ground. He grunts in satisfaction, and gets up, wordlessly moving to one of the branching tunnels to the left. Kylo hesitates. 

“How do you know?” he asks. 

“The scent of humanoid tracks, about a day old,” Hux says. “Moving single file, stepping into each other’s tracks to hide their numbers, almost like Tusken, really.” 

He motions to the wall, and Kylo spots a tiny, almost imperceptible scrap of leather on a rough section of the wall. 

“A piece of their garb. They were in a hurry- they know this tunnel well, traverse it often, so they wouldn’t have damaged their garb like this casually. They know we’re coming, and they retreated to protect something within.” 

“And you think that something is the artefact we’re seeking?” Kylo asks, and Hux nods with an confident certainty that almost annoys Kylo to the point of wanting to smack him. 

“Leather garb, cave dwelling, paranoid travel habits, and a keen awareness of our presence and approach- all trademarks of primitive, non-space-faring folk with superstitious beliefs that likely center around any unexplained artefacts within the caves,” Hux says, and plucks the leather from the wall with his claws, lifting it to his nose and sniffing it. 

“A young male, almost in his prime, and reeking of fear. They’re retreating to protect their treasures.”

Kylo sighs. It’s rather frustrating that he can’t sense the minds of these people, but Hux is able to read them like books from scent, trails and a scrap of leather. 

“They’re new to you, so you haven’t picked up their thought patterns. It must be easier, reading minds in the Order, when they’re all programmed the same way,” Hux says softly. “This is as much an exercise for your abilities as it is mine- as well as getting us to learn how to work together.” 

Hux is too damned smart for his own good. 

“Lead the way,” Kylo says, finally relenting, and a bit more willing to let Hux take point. “You see better in the dark than I do.” 

Hux nods, and begins skulking ahead through the darkness, and Kylo follows his bright mental presence like a beacon instead of the artefact- and finds it’s easier to focus on that instead. 

* * *

The natives are not protective as either expected- they’re skittish, and they see neither hide or hair of them, until they reach a chamber that is lit from all angles by bio-luminescent fungus growing on the walls or hanging from roots that are growing down through the roof of the cave. 

In the center is what was once clearly a Jedi meditation altar, and on top of it, is an ancient pair of weapons- a Guardian lance, and a lightsaber. It takes Kylo only a glance to know the lance is useless, but because it is engraved with various scripts and is edged and trimmed with gold, and from the wear on the script, it is held in more regard. The lightsaber, by contrast, is barely touched, and is halfway covered in dust, dirt and other detritus born of neglect. The lightsaber is what they’re after, as Kylo can feel the kyber within calling to him from the long abandoned hilt of the weapon.

A single man is standing before the altar, brandishing a spear made in a similar fashion to the lance that is so clearly revered, and his stance shows his apprehension, but also his loyalty and devotion to this sacred weapon. Kylo holds up his empty hands, and motions to the altar. 

“Do you speak Basic?” he asks. The man frowns, clearly not understanding. 

“Do you understand me?” Hux asks, repeating the question in various languages- Huttese, Sy Bisti, Meese Caulf, and even Minnisiat. The man only shakes his head, and keeps up his defensive stance. 

Kylo points to the lightsaber, then holds his own up, horizontal so the man can see, hoping that by showing the man he isn’t after their vaunted lance, he might step back and let them take it. The man only pales, and shakes his head. It’s clear there is something about the lightsaber that frightens him. Kylo gets glimpses, snatches of memories of one of his kin, or perhaps a parent, grandparent, accidentally igniting the weapon and killing another. There’s another memory, but it’s so faint it might as well be an ingrained lesson or legend, and he can’t quite grasp it, but he catches glimpses of teeth and claws. More imagery, he supposes. 

“They see it as evil,” Kylo says softly. “And for me to ask for it means I am evil, and therefore a threat.” 

“Ignite your weapon, maybe a show of power will convince him to step back,” Hux suggests. 

It’s not a bad idea, so Kylo ignites his weapon, casting the chamber in red, crackling light. The man lets out a scream and drops his weapon, and flees into the darkness. Clearly, whatever trauma the old lightsaber had caused was more than the accidental death of a former clan member, and the memory runs deep. Kylo doesn’t care past that point, he just wants the crystal, and he digs the ancient weapon out of the refuse on the altar, and puts it in his pack. There’s a soft click as he does so, and he glances at the altar. Nothing seems out of place…..

“Got it?” Hux asks, breaking his curious concentration. He nods. 

“We got what we came for, so let’s go,” he says, not looking forward to the long trek back through the caves, especially since he can sense unrest in the locals throughout the tunnels. 

“There’s an opening that leads outside to northwest,” Hux says, sniffing the air. “I can smell fresh air from that tunnel there. A bit of animal musk, but nothing we can’t handle, I don’t think. We’d best go quickly though, I smell fear spreading, and fear can cause rampant chaos.” 

Kylo doesn’t need to be told twice. He follows after Hux down the tunnel, eager to be out of the caverns, so they can get back on the Vulture and go back to the comfort of starships. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he also wants to have some time away from Hux- to do his research about what an Arkanan really is, and ask Snoke what he plans for the young officer. He doesn’t think Snoke will actually tell him, but it’ll be worth asking in any case. 

He’s so lost in thought, he doesn’t notice that Hux has stopped, and he runs smack into his back. 

“Hux, what th-”

He stops short, and swallows. Standing in their path is a very large, very angry creature that looks very, very hungry. It’s gaunt, emaciated, and reminds Kylo a bit of Hux in a way. It could have been a Tuk’ata, but it was less spiky and leathery, and more scaly, with six legs instead of four, and a thick barrel chest. 

“What is that?” he asks himself more than Hux. 

“A threat,” Hux snarls. He’s scenting the air- as is the creature. They’re sizing each other up- the beast has no interest in Kylo, only Hux. 

Predator recognises predator. 

Kylo is slightly worried, as he sees Hux’s scleras are shrinking as his irises expand, his teeth are elongating, as are his claws, his fingers. His knees are cracking, and his hair is thickening, darkening. Hux fully intends to fight this thing physically, and Kylo has seen Hux’s odd arms and legs, but he doubts it will be enough. He ignites his lightsaber and charges. If nothing else, he can get some blows in- and he stops dead as the saber’s blade does nothing to its hide. In fact, the weapon shuts down as soon as it comes in contact with the dark black scales. 

Like it were made of cortosis….

“Shit,” he utters- and the thick tail of the beast hits him in the stomach, sending him sprawling to the ground and knocking the wind out of him. 

There’s a _furious_ snarl, and a blur of dark fur, green markings glowing intensely in the low light as Hux shoots past him and towards the beast. There’s a snapping of jaws, of teeth, snarls and roars, and Kylo can only watch in horrified fascination at the twisted form of Hux as he leaps onto the beast. 

Hux is nearly quadrupedal. His fur is barely contained by the uniform, which is straining at the joints and spine that suddenly are not bending the way a human’s do. His face is slightly elongated, and there are more bright white teeth flashing in the blunt half-muzzle that has formed on his face. The canines are much longer, sharper, and a pale green fluid seeps from them as Hux tries to bite at his opponent’s throat. 

The two grapple, and they’re almost evenly matched- the bigger feral creature is stronger, but slower, and clearly starved. Hux is well fed, fast, and poisonous, but smaller, and can’t get a fatal grip with his smaller mouth. His claws scrabble for purchase, a hold, a way into the tough hide, and his grip is wiry, but insistent. He is scrappy and determined to prove himself- and there’s a fury, a singular, protective anger that radiates from Hux like heat from a furnace.

_Pack. Protect. ARROGANCE!_

Hux’s mind is roiling with a single-minded, protective fury over him. Kylo remembers Hux sharing his kill, the grateful look on his face when Kylo shared his leftovers… the arousal when Kylo had scuffled with him in the water and ended up on top of him. Hux saw him as pack- not perhaps as close as true family, but for this expedition, this excursion, Kylo was honorary, or temporary pack, and Hux is enraged at having that pack threatened by another apex predator. 

The larger creature’s claws rake over Hux’s back, and the uniform is ripped open- but the thick fur on his back is a saving grace from being wounded. There’s a soft radiation of pain that comes from Hux, however, and Kylo is alarmed at the sensation. He can’t sense wounds, can’t smell blood, but Hux feels wounded. Shortly after, a bright red glow is seen from the gashes in Hux’s uniform, and Kylo realises- the symbionts were hurt. 

Hux hisses, baring his fangs, and his eyes are a solid glowing pale green. His fur is standing on end, and he’s hunching, his shoulders working to make himself look bigger, and a low guttural growl is building in his throat. There’s a ripping sound, and his gloves are shredded as his hands become long-toed paws with raking claws, and Kylo realises Hux isn’t making himself look bigger- he is physically getting bigger. 

With a roar, he launches at his foe, and claws sink into its clavicle as he manages to get on its back. The beast roars in fury, thrashing and bucking to dislodge Hux, but the claws are sinking in like hooks, and Hux’s mouth is opening wide, his glittering teeth exposed. He’s preparing to bite the throat, to sink his teeth in deep and go for the kill. 

The beast jerks its head at the last second, and is looking over its shoulder at Hux, putting them face to face. Hux grins, baring his teeth more and more, then lets out a wet hiss- which is accompanied by a spray from between his teeth. The spray hits the beast in the eyes, and it screams, rolling to its side and rubbing its face in the dirt, against stones, cutting its own head open on the stones in its panicked attempt to get the liquid off. Kylo realises Hux must have sprayed it with his venom, and now it was going blind. 

With the beast distracted, Hux is able to work his position to his advantage, and manages to sink his teeth into the howling creature’s throat, his fangs finding the carotid artery. Blood sprays from the wound around Hux’s teeth- and instead of drinking deep, Hux spits, hisses, and leaps away from his wounded foe, which continues to wail and thrash. Hux wipes his muzzle with a furry foreleg, hunched over in his odd in between state, and pants, watching his enemy fade as the venom works its way through the carotid artery and to the brain. Kylo takes this chance to really look at Hux. 

He’s now as thick as Kylo, but with a canine physique that balances precariously on digitigrade legs. His face has a blunt muzzle, which is wrinkled in a panting snarl, all his teeth exposed. His ears are bigger, a bit higher up on his head, and pointed, and seem to have a bit more range of movement. His thick fur is regrown in a bristling ridge that goes from his head and presumably down to his rump. His thighs are longer, his calves shorter, and his ankles are higher up, making the calves point backwards, and he’s standing on paws with long toes and wickedly sharp claws that glitter in the low light. His arms are longer, and like his legs, the joints have moved as the upper arms have shortened and the forearms have lengthened to have canine proportions. 

Hux looks utterly uncomfortable, though, as his spine is hunched, between the point of being horizontal and vertical, and he’s trying to lean forward to take pressure off his expanded and shifting ribcage. His uniform is in shreds and barely pieced together over his body, and the parts that are still intact look painfully tight. Hux is panting, his limbs are shaking, and Kylo can feel the pain radiating from him. Kylo can also sense elation and frustration- elation, because this is the furthest Hux has pushed his transformation, and frustration, because he’s in pain from not being able to complete it. 

The glowing green eyes close, and with a shuddering whine, Hux falls over, Kylo barely catching him in time. He lowers Hux to the ground, letting his head rest in his lap. 

“I didn’t know you could spit venom,” he jokes as Hux whimpers, his body beginning to shake. Hux cracks open an eye to look at him incredulously. 

“Trying to distract you,” Kylo said awkwardly. “You are radiating pain.” 

“Changing alwaysh hurtsh,” Hux grunts, his words slightly mangled in his muzzle- and in pain- as his legs start to rearrange their proportions. “Not pureblood.” 

“Do you want some painkillers?” Kylo offers. “There’s some decent injectable painkillers in the medkit.” 

Hux shakes his head infinitesimally. 

“I need control,” he wheezes, and wrenches his eyes shut again as another wave of pain crests through him, his arms rearranging themselves this time. 

Unsure of how Hux will react, but unwilling to just sit there and let him suffer, Kylo runs fingers through Hux’s hair at the back of his neck. Hux freezes for an instant, but as Kylo’s fingers comb through the fur and hair, he shudders, and relaxes, which triggers a cascade of rapid transformation back into his mostly human body. Hux lets out a small whimper, and slumps on the ground, shivering a bit. 

“You okay?” Kylo asks, and Hux nods, his head still in Kylo’s lap. 

“That… that’s the first time a change hasn’t hurt,” he says softly, and he turns his head away- but not before Kylo sees a sheen of what might be tears in his eyes. 

Kylo says nothing. He’s putting things together, and coming to some conclusions. Hux being a pack-oriented being, wanting physical touch while he slept, sharing of meals, protecting his pack from a threat… it makes sense to Kylo that some contact, some comfort from a pack member would make his change easier. There was also the elation he’d felt from Hux- elation at the fact that he’d gone further this time- and that had come out of desire to protect Kylo. 

He needs support, he needs pack to reach his potential. He can’t do it alone, Kylo thinks to himself as Hux gets up and paws through his pack for a fresh uniform. He looks away as Hux strips and redresses, and his mind is reeling. 

Snoke knows, or suspects, and he wanted to see if I could bond with Hux, even a little, and if that would be enough to push him past his limit and achieve that potential. But why? Snoke is the leader… and I am his apprentice. Does he want Hux to be the leader of his army then? Is he testing him to see if he’s worthy of the role?

Hux grunts softly, bringing Kylo out of his thoughts as he brushes his shoulder gently with his fingers. He’s dressed again, shouldering his pack. Kylo gets to his feet and grabs his own pack, eyeing the now dead creature. Hux had brought it down with a bite, and Kylo isn’t about to forget that, should he piss Hux off enough to provoke a bite out of him. No wonder the medical corps requests samples from him- that venom is potent. 

“Bungarotoxin,” Hux says quietly. 

“What?” Kylo asks. 

“Bungarotoxin,” Hux repeats. “My venom. It causes paralysis, respiratory failure, and death. Normally it causes death within an hour or two, but if I bite so close to the brain, death takes mere minutes.” 

Kylo is quiet for a bit. 

“You’re more dangerous than people give you credit for, if the chatter from the older officers is anything to go by,” he says finally. 

Hux snorts. 

“They know how dangerous I am, but they dismiss me because I’m a rabid cur, an animal who’s been muzzled, and if released, I’d run amok and cause death and destruction wantonly, without any consideration.” 

“No.” 

Kylo’s voice is firm, and Hux stops, shooting a look over his shoulder, his gaze firm on Kylo until Kylo is beside him. 

“You’re not dangerous because you could easily kill people with a bite, you can spray and spit your venom. You are physically strong and can grow out your claws with ease. You’re dangerous because you reign yourself in, and bide your time. You don’t bite the hand that holds your leash, you’re simply sharpening your teeth until you’re finally unmuzzled- and that is what makes you dangerous… and worthy,” Kylo says quietly, giving Hux a meaningful look before continuing on. 

Hux is still, quiet for a long moment, watching Kylo head up the tunnel. After nearly a full minute, Kylo can hear Hux pick up his pace, and he glances over his shoulder to see Hux coming up behind him. His face is neutral by the time he’s close enough, but Kylo saw enough when Hux rounded the curve. 

He had a small, hopeful smile curving his lips. 


	5. Potential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux and Kylo get political in unspoken terms, learn about each other, and attempt to bridge a new gap between them. Hux meets Ren Prime and the Knights Kylo hopes to join, and Ren shows Kylo Hux's potential. 
> 
> Hux spends the entire evening naked and covered in blood, gorges on organs and lives his best life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for animal death. An Arkanan's gotta eat.

They take one extra day before returning. Hux wants to hunt - he’s hungry, and Kylo isn’t about to get in the way of that. They make their way back to the shuttle and made camp in the nearby clearing instead of sleeping inside- it’s a nice clear day, and both of them were rather rank. Hux also wants free access to the creek, and to hunt again, and Kylo has no issue with that.

He wants to meditate on the crystal they retrieved, but he has the nagging in the back of his head that comes from Ren nudging him via the Force, and he’s getting a headache from it. He suspects Ren is going to be irritated from being ignored, but until they’re in range of a holonet beacon, he can’t make contact with the Night Buzzard. So Ren is going to have to wait.

He watches as Hux removes his pack and flops onto his ass on the ground. The redhead takes off his boots, his socks- and then gets up and sheds his breastplate, his tunic, and begins to undo his belt. Kylo looks away, settling on a soft patch of grass with his back to Hux as the sound of the belt buckle clicking open is loud in the quiet clearing. The soft rumpling of cloth follows, and Kylo can hear Hux step out of the puddle of his pants on the ground, his bare feet practically silent in the grass.

Kylo doesn’t look. He knows what he’ll see- Hux’s thin form, filled out, svelte, thick ridge of fur glossy and full, and hints of his markings curling, trailing over his limbs and his rump in whorls and fractals. Whether they’d be glowing or not, Kylo doesn’t know- he doesn’t understand the mechanics or the specifics- and he suspects it’s rude to ask, especially since Hux doesn’t seem to know entirely himself.

He’s completely distracted by Hux’s unique situation- Hux is an anomaly. Near-human, practically non-human, and ano knowledge of his own physiology, save for the textbook recitations of his own medical reports. Kylo can sense the frustration in him regarding his unique anatomy, the properties he should possess, the abilities he should have, but cannot access, has no knowledge on how to use. That was certain during and after the fight with the cave guardian. Hux was removed from his culture, his people before he got anything more than a barely-remembered impression as a pup. He’s part of his own diaspora that consists of him, and him alone- and Kylo can feel how lonely he is, and how frustrated he is in that he can’t use, can’t reach abilities he knows his body is capable of.

He knows that feeling. He knows the feeling of having potential he can’t access because everyone around him has- or is- actively shaping him to their own specifications, instead of letting him grow and seize his true nature. Like Hux, he’s being starved and denied the freedom to hunt what he really, truly wants. Unlike Hux, though, he isn’t getting much of that, and he envies him, being able to shed his uniform and run into the woods to indulge his natural state of being.

As Hux strips, Kylo messes with the old weapon. It refuses to ignite, the old mechanisms rotted or rusted away- which was expected. He sets it down and pulls tools from his pack- he’s going to have to get physical with it, and he’s more than okay with that; he enjoys fiddling and working with tech, and he rarely gets the chance to do so nowadays. It doesn’t take him long to get the hilt open, exposing corroded wires and circuitry, as well as some archaic parts he doesn’t recognise. He shrugs, removes the crystal from its housing, and rolls the ancient parts up in a cloth, and tucks those into his pack with his tools. The crystal is what his focus is, not the parts surrounding it.

There’s a whisper of feet on grass, and Kylo glances over his shoulder, expecting Hux behind him- but it’s Hux heading into the woods, and Kylo gets an eyeful of his ass, just as he’s bending forward to launch himself into the thicket on all fours. Kylo swallows, and realises he’s going to have a hard time focusing on the crystal.

Hux’s ass has filled out from a proper diet, and damnit all to the void, he has a great fucking ass.

Kylo exhales- his mind is distracted and it takes him a few minutes to focus on the crystal again, but it doesn’t hold. His mind keeps filling with the image of Hux’s pale, soft, round ass accented with whorling fractals of green, the muscles rippling as he charges into the woods on all fours. Kylo snarls to himself and heads the opposite direction from Hux’s departure, heading for a branch of the stream. Perhaps some cold water will help him focus on his task, and not the image of Hux’s ass burned into his brain.

* * *

Hux normally wouldn’t strip naked to hunt, but this is the last stretch of time in an uncivilised sector, where there’s no officers, no enemies that would make things hard for him if they saw him stripped. He also fully plans on gorging, and the uniform he removed was his last clean set- he needs to be presentable when they return.

His first kill is simple- a juvenile grazing ungulate- and he makes quick work of it, chewing on ribs, devouring the choice organs and most tender, fatty sections of meat. It was young, and Hux normally wouldn’t have targeted the young, but he needs something full of fat and tender meat, young marrow and rich blood. He doesn’t know when he’ll next be allowed to eat so well, so much, and freely, so he picks something that will nourish him in the long run.

He sits in the remains of his kill, licking his hands and claws, rumbling and churring contentedly as he grooms himself. He’d smelled something pungent, something musky on Ren as he fled the clearing, and it was stirring his loins as his turbinates clung to that scent, processing it over and over. Arousal, he thinks, but he can’t be sure. Did the man desire him? Possibly. He’d smelled the same scent on him when he’d woken him for his watch, the thick heady aroma rising from his thighs.

Hux has never rutted with anyone, never fooled around, never gotten a good whiff of anyone’s nethers, so he doesn’t know for certain- but he does know that the scent last night had originated in his loins, and now, after stripping, he’d caught the same scent again. The idea wasn’t unpleasant- Kylo is a healthy, well built, powerful man, and worth his salt, enough to where Hux has given him temporary pack status. He’s not mate material, but he is appealing for a rut or two- even though Hux isn’t sure what “mate material” even is, if he’s honest with himself, as he is just as clueless on Arkanan courtship standards as any human.

A sound catches his ears, and he whips his head around towards it. Another grazing animal, trying to sneak around and avoid the predator gorging in its path to water. Hux considers his options, going very still as the ungulate- possibly the parent of the young critter he’s devoured- skirts slowly, carefully around the kill, step by careful step. He considers killing it. His hunger was stated, but his frustration at the events of the cave were still fresh in his mind and his instinct is to lash out, attack, kill. The logical part of him insists it would do him good to kill it, enjoy the tender organs while still warm, and then butcher the meat to share with Ren, and save half for himself. He wilts.

No, decon would never allow him to bring it on the ship. He could sit in the shuttle and devour it before going into the ship proper and at least have a full belly before being subjected to the regimen of parasite removal that would purge his gut to avoid communicable disease and parasites, but it would be a waste, and cause him more misery than was necessary. It wouldn’t be worth it.

But sharing a meal with Ren would be, he tells himself. He’s only temporary pack, but he could be an ally in the future- a valuable one at that. He’s Snoke’s apprentice, and Snoke wants Hux unfettered, lets him hunt, and is pulling him free of Brendol. Yes, he is a good ally to have, and he needs to nurture that partnership. His decision made, he crouches low on all fours, his hips swaying ever so slightly as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, eyes tracking the stilting movement of the cautious ungulate. It freezes, sensing that it is no longer being casually observed, but stalked. The moment is all Hux needs, and he pounces.

Claws sink into the withers, hind claws hook into haunches, and fangs grip the throat. He’s already used his venom on the Sith hound, but he doesn’t need it to kill this herbivore. It’s not a threat, so the adrenaline rushing through him doesn’t coax his glands to produce any venom in self defence.

His fangs have found the carotid, and with a jerk of his head, he rips it open. Warm salty blood covers over his face in a bright red arterial spray as the animal squeals and bucks, only sending blood flying as it tries to dislodge its killer. Hux clings tightly to his prey, drinking in the taste of blood, the scent of fear, and his claws rip from the shoulder and into the neck, this time cutting open the jugular. He doesn’t have the bulk of a fully grown Arkanan in true form, so he can’t simply snap the neck and kill it- he has to bleed it dry.

* * *

It’s this scene that Kylo barges in on.

He’d heard the squeal, and smelled the blood, and for a split second, he’d thought Hux was in trouble. He crashes through the underbrush, lightsaber extended, and stops as he sees Hux clinging to the back of a dying ungulate, butt naked, utterly drenched in blood. He sighs and shuts off his weapon, hooking it back on his belt.

“Kriff’s _sake_ , Hux,” he grouses, averting his eyes as the other man releases his hold, the animal’s head dropping with a thud to the grass.

“Why are you complaining?” Hux asks, getting to his feet, hand closing around one of the animal’s horns so he can drag it back towards camp.

“I got us dinner.”

“I thought you’d gotten in a scrape, or bit off more than you could chew,” Kylo replies, still averting his eyes as Hux takes the lead.

He is quite literally coated in blood from head to toe, and somehow, it’s more lewd, more inappropriate than being naked. It’s intimate and Kylo feels like he shouldn’t be seeing it - even if the view _is_ rather nice.

“I’m sure my performance earlier would attest that I can handle myself against a small herbivore,” Hux says irritably, clearly offended.

“Yes, but Snoke would have my head if something happened to you,” Kylo interjects, moving to sit back down by their packs as Hux begins to butcher his kill.

“I’m not a _puppy_ ,” Hux snarls sharply, snapping his head up to meet Kylo’s eyes, teeth bared. “I’m a grown adult who can handle himself- better than _you_ did back there in the cave, I should add.”

Kylo bristles, opens his mouth to retort, but has no words, because Hux is right. Hux had dealt with the creature when his lightsaber had failed to cut through its hide, and-

“ _ **Fuck**_ ,” he swears, realisation washing over him, making him feel stupid.

Hux flares his nostrils, eyeing him, then goes back to pulling organs out of the animal when no explanation is forthcoming. Kylo doesn’t even notice the squelching, the wet slipping noises, the ripping and snapping as Hux guts his kill, because he’s feeling so stupid.

“Snoke sent us here because there was a lead about kyber that could cut through cortosis,” he says. “Normally, lightsabers can’t cut through the stuff.”

“Yes, which is why it was valued by various crime lords who opposed the Jedi, as well as some more esoteric and isolated branches of Jedi who actually wore armour of the stuff,” Hux says dismissively, sounding like a textbook.

He carefully wraps the stomach and intestines in a bundle and he gets up to dispose of the offending offal. Kylo scowls at the interruption- and at Hux being a dismissive know-it-all - and stares at the bare, bloody ribs of the ungulate to avoid looking at Hux’s soft round rump.

“The beast back there… it showed up when I picked the lightsaber up, and my own lightsaber shut off when I tried to cut through the hide,” he continues. “I was a fool. I should have tried to use the old weapon instead.”

“We didn’t have time to examine our options, and it wouldn’t have ignited, anyway- you saw that when you tried it before you dismantled it,” Hux points out, shrugging his narrow shoulders.

Kylo can see his markings are starting to glow- is it blood, then? Being well fed? What was it that made his marks glow?

“I guess,” he agrees reluctantly, watching as Hux slices his claws through the meat, sectioning it out. The organs are in nice neat piles, organised by rank- from favourite to least liked, sitting on the hide to keep them out of the grass and dirt.

“In any case, we got what we came for,” Hux says, starting to dismantle the skeleton. He’s not famished, so he isn’t scraping it clean- it’s good to leave some for local scavengers, so they don’t go after the main haul when they rest later, and it’s good for the environment to take the bones back. He is, however, taking the ribs, the femurs and pelvis for the rich marrow. No matter how full he might be, he will never waste marrow.

“You certainly got plenty of meat,” Kylo agrees. Hux snorts.

“A large portion of this is for you- I ate before this kill. Most of the meat is for you. A few pieces of meat, the organs and marrow bones are for me- unless there are some organs you’d like,” he offers as he stands, scooping up the remains he has no use for.

“I usually eat liver more in a pate form,” Kylo says without thinking, and immediately regrets it- he’s let slip a bit about himself that speaks more than words.

There’s a moment of silence between them that is heavy, cold, and oppressive as the glaciers of Hoth, and Kylo feels a gap form between them that cannot be closed, only traversed with the utmost of care.

“I see,” is Hux’s reply, and it’s stiff, chilly. His posture has gone from casual to guarded, and his steps are measured as he disappears into the brush again to discard the remains at a safe distance so scavengers won’t bother them with their feeding.

All the while, Kylo curses at himself. It’s true, he only ever tolerated liver in a pate form, or organs in more rich, succulent dishes growing up- and that was because he grew up on Chandrila, surrounded by rich food, richer people, and all the wealth the Core could offer. Hux is a child of the First Order- and a son of an Outer Rim world the Republic had besieged, then forced new acts, new legislation on to make things “equal” for everyone, and it resulted in the exploitation of native Arkanans and the resources and exports that had previously been their main source of income. It was the origin, the driving force of Hux’s fury.

* * *

_Core world brat, I should have known,_ Hux thinks bitterly as he pushes through the undergrowth, tugging roughly on the carcass when a bone catches on a branch or root.

_I **knew** something was soft about him. Soft and spoiled, like Brendol, like Pryde and Brooks, simpering and whining about their spilled wine and lack of aged cheese and sweet pastries while the first generation of First Order troops subsisted on expired ration bars and protein pastes and poorly recycled water. Filthy, spoiled, Core Worlders. _

Though Hux hadn’t set foot on Arkanis since he was five, he kept tabs on his homeworld through Lady Carise Sindian, Arkanis’ Senator, and the report she gave fuelled his passion, his rage, his hatred of the Republic. It was no secret that the Republic’s reformation of “equality” worked in the Core’s favour. The main legislation being making exports and imports more affordable- which meant lowering the prices of goods from the Outer Rim, while not lowering the tariffs, resulting in less profit and general income for those exporting them. Those goods were usually “luxury” items that had been major sources of income, and like many non-core worlds, Arkanis- especially the natives, suffered for it, with the coastal and oceanic packs and pods suffering the most, as most of Arkanis' bounty came from the water.

There were specific fish and caviar from Arkanis’ deep and mostly unexplored oceans that only the aquatic native Arkanans could successfully fish up without damaging the meat- or succumbing to the dangers of the underwater currents or the predators in the dark depths. One of the larger fish that had succulent white meat and incredibly rich caviar could only be caught a certain way, or it would become saturated with stress hormones that made the meat bitter, acrid, and toxic. The labour of such fishing made the fish and its caviar a rare delicacy, and many in the Core were willing to pay top dollar for it.

There were also mollusks that cultivated pearls that developed nowhere else in the galaxy, as any attempts to raise them on other worlds failed, or the pearls were not the same colour or quality. Said mollusks made large, beautiful pearls that are shimmery shades of muted blues, aquas and silvers- or in rare cases, a pale white that has swirls of aqua and silver. There were also sub-species that produced black pearls, but were poisonous, dwelt in deeper, colder water, and had crushing power strong enough to cut off an average humanoid's arm. Both varieties were just as tricky, just as dangerous to obtain, unless one were an Arkanan who'd been retrieving them since they'd developed dorsal fins. Other methods destroyed the beds the mollusks lived in, and could offset pearl production for decades, if not longer. The pearls were also traditional gifts to potential mates, making them priceless to Arkanans, and unmated Arkanans rarely wore them unless in pack-appointed positions- such as Senator or other political positions- and even then, the pearls were not a show of wealth, but a show of love and support from their people, a display of Arkanan unity. 

There were similar cases with the forest dwelling Arkanans, who had access to certain roots that had healing- and mildly hallucinogenic properties- that worked wonders for pain and anxiety, and had low addiction rates with little to no withdrawals, which made them ideal for recovering addicts. The roots were hard to get to, and were on territory that was fervently guarded by the local packs who defended their territory from over-farming, which made them all the more desired.

And with the swamp and taiga dwelling Arkanans, there were specific strains of fungus that were either delicacies, safe hallucinogens, or made exquisite teas that were unmatched in quality- and some of them literally were symbiotic with the local Arkanans, and had to be cultivated by cropping growths from themselves and grown in special gardens in close proximity to the original host, or they would wither and die- which made them all the more rare, and were a large source of income.

The new Equality Act changed that, and many Arkanans were either having to double their efforts to make up for the loss, find other lines of work, or withdraw completely and become insular in their groups, and become more protective of their natural resources that were in their legally owned territory- and when outsiders were driven off, they were given the label of “hostile savages.”

Kylo knew about all of this, and he could hear Hux’s bitter thoughts from far off as he scattered the refuse of his kill.

It was a hotly contested subject between Mon Mothma and his mother, and the subject had been banned in the Organa-Solo household- because his father took the side of the locals and the smugglers they hired to make ends meet, and because his mother was doing the best she could without destroying political balance and treaties and precarious relationships with other politicians… and because she was too devoted to Mon Mothma, which was another heated subject between Leia and Han, and was a reason Kylo had felt there simply wasn’t room for him in their lives.

He knows Hux has every reason to loathe the Core, to despise the Republic, and everyone and everything that came out of it. Kylo just revealed he had a background of privilege, and he hates himself for it, because any common ground between them has disappeared.

“I’m not like them,” he says into the emptiness, knowing Hux can hear him, and he knows how weak, how desperate it sounds as soon as it leaves his lips. “I grew up with privilege, I know that, but I hated it, because I kept seeing, kept sensing, feeling the lies, the greed. I could hear the words proclaiming the need for equality, but their voices sang tones of greed. They claimed they wanted everyone to have comforts of food and healthcare and safety, yet I could smell musk from endangered florals and ambergris from even more endangered sea mammals covering their natural musk. They claimed everyone needed to have basic needs met while they gorged on treats that cost more than entire fields on Outer Rim worlds,” he rambles, the words like vomit.

“I hated it, and I wanted nothing to do with it- and when I was taken away for training with my- with the Jedi, I was taught complacency, not to interfere, because the Light doesn’t take sides, but that didn’t seem right, because wasn’t it supposed to protect the weak? And I was told to control my passions, lest they consume me, and when I couldn’t, there was a moment where my - my teacher, he thought I was lost, and tried to kill me while I slept.”

Hux emerges from the trees, his eyes glowing in the slowly dying light, his markings emitting a soft, barely visible glow that almost seems to pulse if Kylo looks hard enough, and he realises it’s thrumming in time with his angry heartbeat.

“It’s why I killed the other Jedi,” he says softly, looking back at the ground.

He can’t look at Hux right now, meet his eyes. It’s not because he’s naked, covered in blood. It’s because Hux feels like the civilised one, the one who is fighting with literal tooth and claw for his people, and Kylo is sitting here admitting he’s run away, multiple times, instead of fighting, and even though he’s part of the Order now, it’s only a first step, and not a lifetime commitment like Hux’s.

“I killed them, and I destroyed the temple. Snoke found me, and he brought me to the Order, to the Knights of Ren, and once I prove to them I’m worthy, I’ll be officially one of them.”

It’s not the entire truth, but there’s only so much he can say without putting his identity in the open- and he knows Hux would never so much as look at him again if he knew he was the son of the very woman who had signed off on the order to bombard his homeworld.

Hux doesn’t say anything, sitting down and picking up the liver. Without looking away from Kylo, he bites into it, pulling a large chunk away with his teeth and chewing, swallowing and staring. Blood dribbles down his chin, his neck and chest, leaving wet trails in the dried blood already on his skin. His eyes are glowing, and his pupils are large in the fading light of the sunset that’s being devoured by the trees around them. Kylo doesn’t know what to say now, and he isn’t sure if he should say anything, if he might interrupt Hux, who might be chewing on his words as he chews on the liver.

“So you’re not one of them… the Knights of Ren,” Hux finally says, his voice low, rumbling. The fur on his back is stiff with dried blood, so it’s obvious when it fluffs slightly. He’s thinking. Kylo shakes his head.

“I just… I know I’m not a Knight of Ren yet, but part of being one is taking what you want- and what I want is to be Kylo Ren. Not the pathetic boy I was before.”

“So grow up,” Hux says simply, “and be a man.”

He tears off a large piece of liver and holds it out to Kylo, the chunk of organ meat dense, thick and dribbling blood in his blood-caked fingers and gore encrusted claws. His eyes are focused on Kylo’s, narrowed, intense and still glowing softly as he watches to see what he’ll do. Kylo understands the gesture- the liver is the most nutrient rich part of most creatures, and is often coveted by predators, hunters and food enthusiasts. It’s usually eaten first, and by higher ranking predators in pack-driven societies- and being offered a piece during a first hunt with a pack is often a rite of passage. Hux is offering him a symbolic opening to become an adult in his eyes- and possibly, pack.

He’s offering him a way to take a step from the privileged world of the Core towards the solidarity of being a pup of the First Order, and beginning to work towards being an equal in Hux’s eyes.

Kylo takes the chunk of liver, slides it into his mouth, and chews it thoroughly. It’s thick, dense and almost rubbery, since it’s cold, and it has a meaty, coppery taste that his stomach lurches at, but he centers himself, willing his body to be calm so he can chew the offal, swallow it without gagging, and earn Hux’s respect. He finishes chewing, and lets the flesh slide down his throat. He opens eyes he didn’t even realise he’d closed, and he immediately meets Hux’s gaze.

“Good,” Hux purrs, his voice a low throaty churr- it’s mild approval, an unspoken ‘good for now,’ and Kylo is relieved. It’s a new starting point. Hux continues to churr as he begins devouring the rest of the liver with no indication he’s going to share- much to Kylo’s relief.

“Make a fire,” Hux says around a mouthful. “Should cook your meat before it attracts unwanted company.”

Kylo gets to work without a word, clearing a space and making a fire large enough for light and cooking, but small enough to manage and bank down later. Hux stretches, wrapping his organs in the hide and tucking them into his cold-preserver bag. It won’t keep them from going bad for long, but it will keep them edible until morning. Kylo watches Hux tuck each one away lovingly, carefully- especially the thymus, pancreas and heart- and shakes his head. He’s just glad Hux didn’t ask him to eat one of those. The liver in his stomach is not sitting easily, and he’s looking forward to some hot cooked meat to make his stomach overlook it.

“Going to bathe,” Hux calls, getting up.

His body is covered in the splatter of arterial spray, now turned rust and brown, looking like a new set of markings on his pale skin. Kylo looks away, but not before seeing his flanks are filled out, his limbs look less wiry. It shocks him, how quickly Hux is recovering from malnutrition. He also gets a glimpse of the sticky, blood caked fur covering Hux’s groin, which, fur aside, looks flat, with no indication of a penis or testicles. Is it internal? A sheath? Has to be, he muses, seeing how flat the area is, even with the thick fur. Hux turns and heads in the direction of the water, his stride languid and content, and Kylo doesn’t look away this time, his eyes roving to his Hux’s rump.

It really _is_ a nice ass.

There’s the sounds of splashing, and Kylo can see Hux’s markings flaring to life as he dips into the stream. He can hear Hux’s churring from where he is, even over the water. He’s cavorting, enjoying himself, and Kylo finds it oddly relaxing, seeing him content with something so simple. He remembers Arkanis is rainy, humid, and overcast, with storms and near permanent cloud cover. He doesn’t just need a carnivorous diet, he needs water.

He doesn’t know what to make of Hux. One moment, Hux is considering him pack, offering him shares of his kills, defending him physically, curling up beside him while he sleeps, and even being aroused when Kylo overpowered him last night. Then another moment, he’s cold, standoffish, aloof and snide, even disdainful. He reminds Kylo of an abused animal that wants love, wants to be cared for, is afraid of being hurt again, but doesn’t know whether to risk it for the love he wants, or to stay distant to avoid any more pain.

Kylo can relate.

He’s drawn out of his thoughts as a pale green and black blur comes shooting towards him, tackling him. He’s sent rolling out of the clearing, and he lands flat, face first against the ground. Kylo sputters, spitting dirt and grass out of his mouth, but a clawed hand pushes him down again, and a warning hiss sounds in his ear.

“We have company,” Hux’s low voice growls.

Kylo manages to turn his head towards the clearing just in time to see what Hux had heard long before he did- the descending ship coming to a landing in the middle of the clearing- and Kylo knows it well.

“Shit, let me up, Hux, it’s okay,” Kylo says, struggling to get to his feet. Hux doesn’t relent, and Kylo snarls, throwing his weight into his efforts. Hux may be filling out from a good diet, but Kylo still weighs half as much as him, and rolls them over easily, landing on top of Hux. Hux snarls, but there’s no venom in it- only surprise.

“It’s Ren,” Kylo says, suddenly very well aware they’re in the same situation they’d been in last night- Hux underneath him, naked and wet. He gets up and moves towards the Night Buzzard, where the ramp has already lowered, and figures are trailing down its length.

The group is led by a well toned man wearing a blank mask. His bare torso is covered in scars and burns, and his movements, his stride, they all speak of confidence that is well earned and deserved. Hux gets up and watches them with narrowed glowing eyes, flicking between the other figures- all dressed in various attire of black with different masks and weapons. He is either forgetting he’s still naked or doesn’t care.

“Wow. Snoke wasn’t kidding. He may be a mutt but he Looks like a pureblood,” the lead man drawls, his voice like velvet and smoke running over gravel.

“Markings, Shadow and all. Little skinny and underfed, but he looks like a purebred Swamp Dog.”

Hux bristles and his ridge puffs out, hackles raising and teeth baring as he growls.

“And I’ve taken out bigger mongrels than _you_ ,” he challenges, and pale yellow-green fluid seeps from his fangs. Kylo pales- he thought Hux had already used his venom today- and he steps between them.

“It- it was a compliment, Hux,” he says, tone placating. “He doesn’t sugar coat anything.”

“Hey, no need to speak for me, kid,” the man says, sounding amused, but Hux can hear the warning in his voice, see it in his stance- he’s the leader of this pack, and he doesn’t like Kylo speaking for him- because Kylo isn’t pack yet. Hux can also hear the tone of curiosity- and mild irritation- at Kylo trying to diffuse the situation, because it isn’t clear who he’s protecting.

He removes his blank mask, revealing intense pale blue eyes and silvery white-grey hair that’s a mix of braids and twists in a glorious messy mane around chiselled cheekbones, a square jaw and sculpted nose that’s slightly crooked from more than one past break. He’s ruggedly handsome, and his easy going smirk on his wide mouth says more than words- he’s their leader because he knows he can win without trying, and he has the natural authority and charisma to get his pack to follow him through anything.

Hux hates himself, because he actually feels a bit flustered- the man is so arrogant, cocky, self assured and confident, and it permeates his stance, his presence and his scent- and he almost feels the urge to bare his throat. It’s Hux’s slight claim on Kylo, his plans for his future, for his advancement, his freedom, that keep him from doing so.

It’s also the man’s blood. He’s not Arkanan. He’s human, and he will not submit to a human.

“So you’re Armitage Hux,” he drawls.

“My name is _Cuán_ ,” Hux corrects. He’ll be damned if anyone that isn’t Brendol or his cronies call him the name he never wanted.

“Cuán,” the man repeats, drawling, tasting it, then nodding. “I like it. It’s less stuffy than Armitage. You’re not a stuffy human- you’re Arkanan.”

“And _you_ are?” Hux asks pointedly.

“I am Ren,” he replies, and motions to the figures flanking him on either side. “And these are the Knights of Ren.”

“Ren…” Kylo says carefully. “Why are you here?”

Ren turns his striking blue eyes on the younger man.

“Did you get the crystal Snoke sent you to get?” he asks. Kylo nods and pulls it out of his pouch, holding it up. Ren didn’t take it, but gives it a good hard look, then nods in approval.

“That’s the stuff,” he says, his voice having the barest hint of approval. “An actual Mestare kyber.”

Hux frowns.

“A Mestare kyber? Why did we not just go to Mestare?” he asks Kylo.

Ren cants his head to the side, giving a small, tight, half smile.

“I don’t put things in any polite terms. Mestare has some bat-shit nutters there. Almost a cult, really, and they aren’t keen on sharing their kyber- even I don’t like going there.”

He points to a knotted scar that spans from hip to shoulder blade.

“They really, _really_ don’t like to share.”

“So why are you here?” Hux asks.

“I’m here for the kid,” Ren says, grinning. “We got a hit on a big score and if he does well… it’s one step closer to gaining the name and place he wants so badly. Right, Ben?”

Kylo winces, his cheeks flushing as he looks away- but his attempt at moving away from Ren is cut off as the man wraps a thick arm around his shoulders.

“I can’t just leave Hux, I have orders,” he protests, a little weakly.

“I’m not a pampered Chandrilan squall,” Hux spits. “If you recall, _I_ was the one who killed the Sith hound.”

Ren’s eyes glittered, and he seemed to be looking at Hux in a new light.

“Did you, now?”

Hux lifted his head proudly, chin jutting, eyes flashing and teeth glittering in a proud, challenging grin.

“I did. With my own teeth- and venom.”

“Well that sounds like it needs retelling. Mind if we settle by your fire while you tell us about it?” Ren asks. The more he talks to this feral little Arkanan shit, the more he likes him.

Hux considers, then shrugs.

“We were just making camp- and dinner. It’s up to _Kylo_ if he wants to share his part of my kill with you,” he says, emphasising the name Kylo- he’d seen how the name Ben had made him wince.

He also sees how he’s gone completely submissive, and he wants to remind Kylo that with _him_ , he has agency, and the kill was his, despite being shared, so Kylo doesn’t feel pressured to share the meat with the Knights.

“You always strut around with your ass hanging out, pup?” Ren asks as he sprawls on the grass by the fire. Hux lifts his lip and exposes his teeth, but drops it as he turns in a tight circle a few times before settling down beside his pack. Pup. No one called him pup but Máthair, and hearing Ren call him that sets his fangs on edge.

“I took my uniform off for a kill,” Hux says nonchalantly. He has nothing to hide or be ashamed of- there’s nothing to see, after all. “And I had been bathing when you arrived. I took liberties and my kill was delightfully messy.”

One of the knights- one with an odd rictus design on their mask- snorts in derisive disbelief. There’s a moment of some brief unspoken banter, and the other knights laugh. Hux bristles again, but elects to ignore it- and to distract himself by pulling the pack of bones and organs out. He’s not hungry, but eating has always been a good way to get humans to shut their mouths because they were too busy staring at his.

As expected, they all fall silent as Hux closes his jaws on a heavy femur, and the cracking of bone is a loud snap in the quiet air. He pulls the bone apart- the bone is still raw, relatively fresh from the kill, and breaks evenly, without splinters. Hux churrs loudly as he slides his tongue into the inner chamber and uses the rough surface to pull out the marrow, the sound loud in the silence only broken by the crackle of the fire.

When his tongue can’t reach, he cracks the other end open in his jaws and begins again until he’s hollowed out the bone- and in no time, the femurs have been licked clean. His hunger reignited by the rich marrow, he roots around in his pack- he had considered the ribs, but decides to save those for breakfast, and pulls out the pancreas. His churring gets louder as he snacks on the sweetbread, his delight evident.

“Tell us about this Sith hound, then,” one of the Knights- one with blinders on their mask- asks Hux. “I am curious as to how you beat it.”

Hux shoots a look at Kylo, who nods- there’s no point in trying to embellish the story in his own favour, as Ren will see right through it. In any case, it’s a chance for Hux to establish his own reputation with the Knights.

Hux begins recounting their excursion, and though he normally has a penchant for sounding like a textbook or archive, when reporting his own events, he has a flare for exquisite detail and emphasis, and the Knights are quickly engrossed in it. Hux also makes some serious punctuation and moments of tension by pulling out the heart from his pack and ripping into it with his teeth, getting himself bloody again.

“You thought I did his kill for him, didn’t you?” Kylo asks Ren quietly as Hux gives his report and snacks on the offal. Ren doesn’t take his eyes away from the gorging Arkanan.

“At first I did,” he admits, and the admission is a rare one. “But now…”

He nods at Hux.

“Tell me what you See, kid.”

Kylo frowns, then studies Hux, his physical eyes staring in Hux’s general direction, but lets them slide out of focus to let the Force- the Ren, the Shadow- take control of his Sight. As he watches the teeth flash, the throat undulate, claws working over the slick surface of the organs, all of it flickering in the light of the dancing fire, he begins to See what Ren Sees.

He Sees through the shimmer of heat in the fire, a long muzzle with powerful jaws set with two rows of glittering fangs and carnassial teeth, four glowing green eyes and two sets of horns raking backward from the top and sides of his sleek canine head. He Sees an elongated spine, hunched shoulders and rippling black-red fur with those whorling fractals that in this form, have fruiting bodies and clearly thrive in the thick healthy fur. He can See long lithe legs with powerful haunches that end in elegant paws tipped with vicious claws, and a whiplike tail tipped with spikes and ridged with the same rippling fur. The Arkanan he sees with his physical eyes is no longer there- Kylo can See the massive creature hunched over his kill, standing nearly six feet at the withers.

He Sees Hux’s potential, and it’s equal parts beautiful and terrifying.

“Yeah,” Ren murmurs thoughtfully, almost wistfully, smiling softly. “He’s something, alright. He’s an uptight and repressed little pup, but if he’s allowed to grow, let off his leash…. He’d be a force of nature.”

“He’s… beautiful,” Kylo whispers, eyes glazed over as his Sight fixates on what the Ren shows him.

Ren’s pale blue eyes flash in the firelight as he watches the young Arkanan feed his inner beast, and his soft smile turns hard, wicked, his own teeth glinting.

“Some beasts can’t be tamed, kid,” he says to Kylo. “Brendol’s gonna regret thinking he could tame that one.”


	6. Annual Exam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux gets his annual exam from his personal doctor, who always takes exquisite notes on her patient's unique biology.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literally a medical chart and doctor's exam. There will be a clinical physical exam that includes a genitourinary exam similar to a pap/prostate exam. It's all professional and clinical and done with consent. No medical tools are explicitly described or used. This is basically a chapter to dig into Hux's biology/anatomy. It can be skipped if you aren't comfortable reading it, there's no plot.
> 
> (Taiga is the term Weyland uses, as Hux's pack lives in a swampy, coniferous forested area that straddles the territory between the open swamps and the more arid forests deeper inland- taiga can be swampy! Think Hjaalmarch ^_^)

Doctor Leta Weyland is excited. She’s buzzing about, preparing her entire office for the visit, and there are no other patients coming in today- she never has more than one when it’s time for the annual exam. It’s always such a treat when AX-3942 comes in for his annual exam- the quarterly visits don’t last nearly as long, only an hour or so to check baseline vitals, check for communicable disease that he might have brought in that decon might have missed; can never be too careful, really. The annual exam, though, that’s nearly a full day of tests and exams and note-taking, and Weyland is practically vibrating in excitement.

Every year, she worries he won’t show, or that he’ll be late and their time together will be cut short, and she has so much she needs to document! Arkanans rarely breed with humans, and the cases of those offspring being taken from packs or pods are even rarer. Being taken offworld is even rarer, practically unheard of. From what she knows, this is especially the case in Taiga and Oceanic variants, as their unique anatomy requires pack nurturing, and the water and humidity of Arkanis. She wants to document the effects of growing off world, even if the documents she has on native Arkanans growing up in normal conditions are woefully low, damn Brendol to hell with his erasure of it all. He doesn’t want AX-3942 to know about his own potential, his capability, so he’s just as clueless as she is.

Ah, but there’s his knock! He’s here! He looks disgruntled and unhappy about the exam as he always does, but he knows she’s the only doctor who will care about his condition, and treat him with respect. And she does, really. He’s her most important asset, he’s intelligent, dangerous and to be honest, his snark and cheek is always a delight. And he actually looks like he ate today!

He’s on the table now, and Weyland is ready to begin. It’s going to be a long, but productive day.

——

From the notes of Doctor Leta Weyland, xenobiologist of the _Absolution_

 **Patient:** Hux, Armitage

 **IN/DN:** AX-3942

 **Sex:** Intersex

 **Gender:** Male

 **DOB:** 0ABY, exact date unknown

 **Species:** Human/Native Arkanan (Taiga Breed)

 **Rank:** Captain

 **PCat:** A11 FOA, Active Duty

 **Unit:** [REDACTED]

 **PCM:** Weyland, Leta G

**Active Medical Conditions:**

  * Arkanan biology, specifics ongoing research via Weyland, Leta G.
  * Malnutrition
  * Loss of Fur
  * Metabolic Disorder, NOS
  * Digestive Disorder, NOS
  * Other Physical Therapy
  * Diffuse Joint Pain (arthralgias)



**Active Family History:**

  * Family History of Hypertension
  * Family History of Hypercholesterolemia
  * Family History of Radiation Susceptibility
  * Unknown Maternal Family Medical History.



**Allergies:**

  * **Refined/Processed Grains** : Malabsorption, Maldigestive Complications, Loose/Watery Stools
  * **Gluten** : Malabsorption, Maldigestive Complications, Loose/Watery Stools
  * **Silver** : Rash, Swelling, Lesions
  * **Silver Nitrate** : Rash, Swelling, Lesions
  * **Chlorine** : Skin and Mucosal Membrane Sensitivity, Symbiont Death



**Active Prescriptions:**

  * **Dietary supplement:** specialised mix- formula AX-1. One pre-measured scoop of powder dissolved in water or milk at least once per day. Double dose when unable to access meals designated by diet card.
  * **Painkillers:** PRN



** Vital Signs **

  * **Blood Pressure** : 110/60
  * **Pulse:** 55
  * **Temperature:** 39.1
  * **Blood Oximetry** : 99%, (delivery method room air)
  * **Respiration Rate:** 15 bpm
  * **Height:** 1.88m
  * **Weight:** 65kg
  * **Pain Scale:** 1/10 (Comments: Mild Diffuse Joint Pain)



** Physical Findings **

**General Appearance:**

  * Well-appearing. Alert and Oriented x4



**Standard Measurements:**

  * Underweight, Reviewed Nutritional Plan



**Neck:**

  * **Palpation:** No tenderness of the neck
  * **Suppleness:** Neck demonstrated no decrease in suppleness
  * **Cervical Mass:** No cervical mass seen



**Eyes:**

  * **General/Bilateral** : Pupils reactive to lights in a symmetrical manner. Irises clear of any strain or trauma.
  * **External Eye:** No abnormalities. No discharge from the conjunctiva
  * **Sclera:** Showed no icterus



**Lymphatic:**

  * Cervical lymph nodes not enlarged.
  * Axillary lymph nodes not enlarged.
  * Spleen not enlarged.



**Lungs:**

  * Clear to auscultation.
  * No wheezing was heard.
  * No rales/crackles were heard.



**Cardiovascular System:**

  * **Heart rate and rhythm:** Normal
  * **Heart sounds:** Normal
  * **Edema:** Not present.



**Musculoskeletal System:**

  * Normal movement of all extremities.
  * Mild ttp at load bearing joints symmetrically
  * Mild strain at bilateral shoulders and hips symmetrically.
  * Slight thickening of zygomatic, temporomandibular joint, and mandibular angle.
  * Notable development of the sternocleidomastoid, temporalis, masseter and trapezius.
  * Head tracking movement now involving minor turning of shoulders
  * Notable increase of flexibility and movement in the thoracic and lumbar spine.
  * Bruising of the coccyx, striation on bones visible in scans.



**Neurological:**

  * **Motor** : Motor exam demonstrated no dysfunction
  * **Balance** : Normal
  * **Gait and Stance** : Abnormal. Gait test shows slight forward lean of the spine and mild hunching of neck and shoulders, likely from the development of the sternocleidomastoid, temporalis, masseter and trapezius. Patient also placing more weight on the toes and balls of feet when walking. Recommending a postural corset for formal situations.



**Integumentary** :

  * **Skin:** good colour, warm, with soft texture and slight oily residue close to fungal symbionts. 
    * **Note** : Fungal symbionts respond to touch with gentle thrumming glow of a pale yellow green colour, seem healthy, no inflammation or reaction from skin where symbionts grow.
    * Torso has new stretch marks along ribs, spine, and flanks, seem to be healing at an accelerated rate. Further examination reveals similar stretch marks on elbows and knees, also healing at accelerated rate.
  * **Hands and Claws:** Clean, skin unbroken. Claw beds free of swelling or infection. Claws smooth and unbroken, healthy growth patterns, well groomed.
  * **Feet and Claws:** Clean and soft. Toes well aligned, claw beds free of swelling or infection. Claws smooth, unbroken, healthy growth patterns, well groomed. 
    * **Note:** Claws on both hands and feet seem thicker, taking clipping for comparison of keratin content from last annual examination.
  * **Hair:** Thick, full. Scalp free of irritation, lice or other parasites. Symbionts not present on head. Strands taken to compare from last annual exam.
  * **Fur:** Fur of back and groin thick, clean and free of parasites. Skin clean and healthy at growth sites. Symbionts thriving in fur. Strands taken to compare from last annual exam.



**Dental:**

  * **Teeth:** clean and sharp, tongue pink, healthy and free of thrush or oral disease. 
    * Canines longer than last annual by 1mm.
    * Carnassial teeth showing minimal signs of wear
    * Small growths seen in gums below the teeth; see follow up
  * **Gums:** pink and healthy.
  * **Breath:** normal as per post brushing standards.
  * **Follow up:** Scans indicate a tertiary set of teeth forming with no signs that the current teeth will be shed- all roots intact with no dissolving. Possibly a case of persistent deciduous teeth. Will monitor and see if new teeth cause issues with eating. Will surgically remove if patient is negatively affected.
  * Bite force markedly increased from 200 PSI to 400 PSI. 
    * **Note** : Patient was not keen on fully cooperating with bite pressure plate; will try rigging a pressure plate to a bone to attempt to get full scope of bite pressure.



**HEENT** :

  * Throat and nose clear, no drip or irritation. Tonsils removed at age 6.
  * Ears clear, eardrums intact and healthy. Increased motion in reaction to auditory stimuli, still restricted by human muscles.
  * Nose, mouth and eye mucosal membranes moist.



**Digestive** :

  * No tenderness or rebound pain upon palpation.
  * No abnormal sounds in bowels, sounds of motility and digestion- patient ate before visit.
  * No stomach distension, swelling or blockage detected.
  * Liver of normal size, no tenderness.
  * Fecal sample obtained- pending results.



**Genitourinary** :

  * Urine sample obtained. Results below.
  * **Urinalysis:**
    * **Appearance:** Clear, Pale Yellow
    * **Specific Gravity:** 1.015
    * **PH** : 7.0
    * **Protein** : Neg
    * **Urobilinogen** : 0.2 (Normal)
    * **Bilirubin** : Neg
    * **Glucose** : Neg
    * **Creatinine** : 1.0
    * **Leukocytes** : Neg
    * **Ketones** : SM 10
    * **SDMA** : 5 
      * Notes: Ketones higher than normal, likely due to malnutrition.



**Genital Exam:**

  * -



“Do we have to do this?” Hux asks, cutting Weyland off from her notes.

“You know I need to do a full exam, Hux,” she says, not unkindly. “I’m noticing some marked changes in your anatomy. I need to be thorough if I want to make sure I don’t miss anything that might be a health concern. Your attempted shift may have pushed too far, and I need to check everything. You know I don’t take pleasure in making you uncomfortable.”

“You do enjoy learning and researching,” Hux points out as he gets up from the table and slips off his skivvies.

“I do,” she admits. “Give me a minute while I warm this up, make it a little less uncomfortable?”

“This” is a bottle of medical grade lubricant. Hux gets back on the exam table, lying on his back and closes his eyes. He knows this is all medical, he knows it’s necessary, but he really, really hates this part. He has since he hit puberty, and he knows this is to keep him healthy. But stars if it isn’t awkward and uncomfortable and downright embarrassing.

“Ready?” she asks, approaching with elbow length gloves,and a bottle in her hand. Hux sighs and nods.

“I can always give you a little nitrous, help you relax,” she offers. Hux considers, then nods again.

“Yes, please.”

She sets the bottle down and brings down a mask hooked to a nitrous-oxide feed. She arranges the mask over his mouth and nose, but doesn’t strap it down.

“You can take it off and replace it as you need, okay? I know this is mortifying for you.”

“That is an understatement,” Hux sighs, and takes a deep breath of the nitrous, his body relaxing after a few breaths, his eyes fluttering shut- and he leaves the mask on, his hand dropping onto his chest, which rises and falls easily with his slow breaths.

With Hux unconscious, and this part of the exam needing both hands, Weyland keys up her audio recorder, the mic attached to her mask. She lowers the faceshield and applies warm lubrication to her hands.

“I really am sorry,” she tells the unconscious man on the table. She uses her lubed hands to slick back the thick fur between his legs, revealing a vertical slit in his groin.

“Genital slit is free of any inflammation or discharge, skin is appropriately warm, and the surrounding fur is clean,” she notes, and applies lubrication to his slit before sliding two lubricated, gloved fingers in, and moves them to the bottom end. A few gentle strokes here, a careful push there, and she has two fingers pushed into his slit, pale green-yellow flesh around the digits. Her other hand presses on his lower abdomen, and she palpates it as her fingers search and probe.

“No changes in the ovouterine tract,” she says to the recorder, and probes and presses in other spots. “From what I can tell, the uterine horn is still the same size, testes have no change in size or firmness, but have descended a bit- will need a semen sample to check status of gamete production. Oviducts likewise seem stable. According to charts, next laying cycle should be in two months, but I cannot feel any eggs in development. Likely a result of malnutrition- a better, more stable diet will likely put the reproductive cycle back on track.”

She takes a few swabs and gets samples from his slit, his canal, and places them in tubes to culture and run under the microscope later. She removes her hand from his slit, and uses her non-contaminated hand to remove the mask from Hux’s face. After a few moments of clean room air, his eyes flutter open, and she pats his shoulder.

“I need to examine the shaft, you know I’m not going to force it. I also noticed your testes descended a bit, so I would also like a semen sample.”

Hux sighs and sits up. Weyland looks away, giving him some momentary privacy, as he tries thinking about arousing imagery- and his mind bounces between Ren and Kylo, and how Kylo had been on top of him, how they’d scuffled, but he also can’t get Ren’s rugged face out of his mind, the smirk, the intense focus with which those pale blue eyes had stared at him across the fire as he ate. Between the remnants of the nitrous distracting him from the awkward clinical setting, and the pleasant thoughts of two attractive men, his cock slowly hardens and emerges from his slit.

His cheeks flush, and he looks away as Weyland gives it a clinical once-over, carefully- and respectfully- giving the head, then base a quick touch, her brows furrowing. He knows she has only a clinical interest, the office is cold, and he has no interest in human women, so it’s difficult to maintain his arousal, despite it being actively touched.

“Genitalia are of typical colour, there is no inflammation, discharge or other outward signs of infection,” she intones. “Girth and length are mostly of the same measurements from last annual exam, though there seems to be a thickening of the bulbis glandis at the base.”

She removes her gloves and washes up.

“I’ll step into my cubicle and give you some privacy,” she says. “Do you ah… want some material?”

He shakes his head.

“I can manage,” he says, and she steps out of sight.

She needs a sample, and he should be happy to give it to her, but the situation is still awkward. It’s an agreement they have- he lets her do these exams, these physicals, and she monitors his reproductive system. He never had a family, was taken away from his, and all he wants- aside from power, from a place in the Order that he has been a part of since he was five- is a family of his own. He was told by Brendol that he likely wouldn’t be able to sire children, and he’d gone to Weyland after he hit puberty, imploring her to check, to run tests, genetic analyses.

He learned that Arkanans could either sire, bear or carry pups- all Arkanans were born with testes, oviducts, and uterine bodies. But, to his dismay, Weyland discovered that he could not bear children like the pureblooded members of his kind, and nor could he carry. The eggs his oviducts produced were not mature or viable due to the odd mix of Arkanan and human chromosomes. His uterine body was not maturing, and could not stretch properly for carrying another Arkanan’s clutch. He had motile sperm, but whether he could sire children with another Arkanan or a human was unknown, as Weyland had not been given permission or access to any donor eggs in the Order. All she could do was do genetic analyses on his sperm once a year and see if there were changes- and store it for future fertilisation experiments.

He glances down at his cock and takes it in his hand. It isn’t human. It has a pale green-yellow colour, and the flesh is very soft, pliable. The erectile tissue is more like a tube than a rod, unlike in humans. The head is softly tapered, with a wide slit, and the shaft has gentle ridges on the sides and the top. The underside is incredibly smooth and slick, especially when he applies some of the lube that Weyland left. His cock makes soft wet squishing sounds at the tip as the head is squeezed, and a thick fluid leaks from it. The base of his cock is thick, and as he pumps his hand, fucking his own fist, it begins to swell.

He’s thinking of Kylo, of Ren. He’s thinking of thrusting deep into Kylo, watching his back arch as he takes his cock- and he’s thinking of Ren, shoving his own cock into Kylo’s mouth, leaning forward over Kylo’s back to bare his throat so Hux can lick it, kiss it, nip at it, both their hands working over each other, over Kylo, and he imagines them both growling, panting and moaning as the three of them climax together-

His hips jerk, his stomach tightens, and the base of his cock swells almost painfully into a fist sized knot. He barely grabs the specimen cup in time as thick, pale ropes of semen shoot into the container. He clenches his teeth to keep from growling or moaning too loudly as he comes, filling the cup. Almost immediately, he feels disgusted and almost ashamed. He swallows the feeling and pads to the sink to wash his hands, grabbing paper towels to clean off his cock. The knot is still inflated, so it’s sensitive, and he hisses when he wipes it off. He places the lid on the cup and sets it on the tray, sitting back on the table, and the sound has Weyland coming out. She tilts her head, giving his slowly deflating cock another evaluation.

“Definitely some thickening of the bulbis glandis,” she comments. “Thicker knot than last year. Perhaps a last wave of sexual maturity?”

Hux shrugs, but he knows she isn’t talking to him, she’s talking to her recorder, and he just wants to hop in the shower so he can wash off the lube and try to scrub some dignity back into his skin. She scoops the cup up off the tray with gloved hands and holds it up, looking at the measurements. She hums softly in satisfaction.

“Viscosity is visibly thicker than last exam, and the amount produced is 6.2 millilitres, an increase of .50 millilitres from last annual exam,” she notes to her recorder. “Slightly translucent, pale white, notable pearlescence not noted in last year’s sample. Will have to run tests.”

Hux glances at the shower longingly, and Weyland smiles.

“Go on, then. I haven’t let anyone use it today, so all the hot water you want- but you know the drill,” she calls as he bolts for the shower with an excited rumble.

“Yes, yes, I know!” he all but chirps as he slips into the shower stall, shutting the floor-to-ceiling door and turning on the hot water.

The drill is that he can’t dry off- or shake off- until she’s given his post-shower fur, skin, and symbionts a good look to see how they do after a good soak. And soak he does. He cavorts under the hot water, ignoring when Weyland turns off the lights, save for the one on her desk, so she can monitor the glow of his markings through the glass door. He doesn’t care- his cock is deflated, and slowly slipping back into his slit, halfway hidden by the fur he’s already scrubbed clean of the lubricant. He runs his hands over himself, not really washing. He had a sonic shower that morning, so he’s clean, he only wants to be **_WET_**. Once the lube is off him, and he’s given himself a good satisfying shake inside the shower, he simply turns around and around in the water. His fur is soaked, his hair drenched, and his skin slick. He closes his eyes and purrs, loud, content.

Weyland watches, noting the increase in the glow of his markings, and how his markings have spread- they’re no longer confined to the tight confines of his fur and the inch of skin on either side of his ridge. They spiral and whorl over his ribs, along his shoulders and down to his elbows. The marks also curl and wind around his buttocks, and down the sides of his thighs, reaching his knees. There even seems to be the slightest indication of possible fruiting bodies in the thicker parts of his fur at the base of his spine and the fur between his shoulders. It’s fascinating, and quite beautiful.

“Symbionts are flourishing, and markings are extending,” she comments to her mic.

“What did you eat today?” she asks him. He starts, completely lost in the joy of the water, then grins, flashing sharp teeth.

“A gift,” he says. “From the Supreme Leader.”

Weyland is not an officer. She doesn’t do the routine of falling silent and not pressing. She needs answers.

“Cuán,” she says warningly- a tone that says ‘I am not in the mood.’

He softens, being called by his preferred name, his pack name.

“A Republic spy,” he says. “Once the Loyalty Officer was done, he was of no use to anyone… except me. So he was given to me as a gift.”

Weyland nods and makes notes.

“And how much- and what- did you eat of him?” she asks, not bothered in the slightest.

“Heart, liver,” Hux says, counting off on clawed fingers, still in the stream of hot water. “Pancreas, thymus, lungs, kidneys. Ribs, femurs- for the marrow.”

“Any muscle?” Weyland asks, entering it into her datapad.

“Some, but I didn’t have time to eat it all, and he was rather small and wiry, not a lot of meat on him. The organs were rich though, and satisfying.”

“Anything before that, and after your mission with Kylo Ren?”

Hux shakes his head, scowling.

“Not much. Protein paste, but I could taste grains in it, so I didn’t eat it. I did, however get a liver from Ren a week ago. It was a thoughtful and tasty gift. I have some of the meal replacement powder, but it’s mostly skirting around protein paste. I was trying to get some of the dehydrated meat rations, but Brendol has my diet card monitored,” he growls.

“Come to me if you’re that hungry, Cuán,” Weyland says. “You know I’ve offered to let you take your pick from the freshly dead after I’ve autopsied them.”

“And risk you getting caught, and then losing the one doctor that wouldn’t vivisect me?” Hux asks incredulously, his voice low and raspy with a stressed growl. “No.”

Weyland smiles at him.

“Enjoy your shower, Cuán. I’m going to finish your labwork.”

She leaves Hux in the dark, and with hot water streaming over him, a full belly, the rest of the day off because of the exam, and the knowledge that he has at least one person on his side, Hux purrs to himself contentedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally just copied the format of Hux's medical chart and exam from my own military records when I was still in the Navy, and it was rather satisfying to do- was like transcribing old records at one of my former jobs.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Share the Load](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25031188) by [EmperorsVornskr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmperorsVornskr/pseuds/EmperorsVornskr)




End file.
